Lemon She / by Rebecca Tillett

lemon she, she was broken down
And the soldiers on leave stopped coming around,
lemon she, she was a dead device
not a martini nor nail polish would suffice.

lemon she, blood, bruises, and cellulite
but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
lemon she, she was alone and bitter
and nursing broken bones left by the last to hit her.

lemon she, she knew she’d survive
she’d make it outta this thing alive.
lemon she, she surely was a lemon
but unique and beautiful from other women.

lemon, she really wasn’t.