Improv, Comedy, Women, Melbourne and everything in between.
Thou, Validity, art my goddess,
To thy law my image is bound.
My goddess, grant me a career so envied,
And perhaps an engagement in my mid to late twenties.
Intoxicate me with a double-take,
My goddess, grant me a wedding with a lavish cake.
Send me a husband, with a structured face,
and let the grinch-like green play the hero in my dreams.
Why dost thou deprive me of this life I seek?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
A Victoria’s Secret model – maybe not so that.
My mind is adequate, and my shape as true,
as that of a Dove commercial, an ambition not new.
Thou, Validity, am I not a goddess?
Why brand they us with beauty? With base? Breasts? A new face?
I cannot help but feel I have a used-by date.
Who, in the lusty stealth of state,
determines the means of these precedented scenes?
Oh, Validity, thou art a heartless wench,
You force me, I’m striving to be the very best.
Yet I am not finished, I am not done,
I’ll fight ’til the time for botox is none.
And as Time wraps his arms around my hour-glass figure,
He’ll dream of a life where my breasts are bigger.
And I’ll dream of a life where I look like her,
Until I’m told I’m beautiful, may you let it occur.
As to th’ beautiful. Fine word – ‘beautiful’!
Oh, Validity, grant me yourself.
Or just a skinny-armed picture, to put on my shelf.
Just a moment of your touch, ’tis all I seek,
An ounce of reassurance, I’ll have you only for a week.
Oh, Validity, you play hard to get,
Under this pressure, you have caused me such fret.
Yet I am ruthless, I’ll play your slave,
I’ll follow you while I’m led to my grave.
And as your talons dig deep, I’ll let them sink,
And I’ll tan my skin so it doesn’t look pink.
I am a prime candidate, my makeup is stealth.
My children at school, my Husband, good wealth,
Now, good Goddess, grant me yourself!