This was written when I was 12, not 21.
My hair is the color of,
An oak tree dying in the forest.
My eyes are like,
Chocolate chips baking to a crisp.
My nose is like a,
Strawberry, stolen by a squirrel before it was ripe.
My head is like a,
Pale orange, rolling downhill.
My tongue is like a,
Grapefruit, both of them can’t live without sugar.
My mouth is a,
Metal mine with rubber band pulleys.
I live in a bakery,
And I eat all the strawberry shortcakes, with extra whip cream.
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