Forget what I just said about Amanda Palmer. Her poetry inspired me to write a poem of my own, for Reese Witherspoon, during her difficult time.
A Poem for Reese
you don't know how it felt to be in the womb but it must have been at least a little warmer than the heated seats in your car
you don't know how intimately they're recording your every move on closed-circuit cameras until you see your face reflected back at you through the mug shot (you look angelic, by the way)
you don't know how to stop picking your nose
you don't know how the cop doesn't know your name
you don't know how to stay in the car
you don't know how things could change so incredibly fast
you don't know how to "Walk the Line" in the field sobriety test
you don't know how to call a cab but the instructions are on the internet
you don't know the way back to the hotel
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