Alix Olson - Sticks lyrics

“Welcome to the stick world,” Mama whispers to her newborn baby girl She admires the little toes, wriggling Like plump pink ballerinas Caresses the round belly Places her palm under the fat behind Envelops the chunky thighs She strokes the tiny flat breasts The Baby girl sighs And mama begins her stick world lesson Hushed and intent: “We stick baby boys’ lips on our nipples- To relieve them Stick big boys inside our lips- To relieve them s** until we swallow their stickiness We tell our sons ‘only sticks and stones Will break their bones,’ Then call each other b**h, knowing it sticks More than hurled knuckles ever could We are ignored when our bu*ts stick out Admired when our chests stick out We chant ‘stick together, stick together’, until Size six b**h walks by- ‘sick’, we whisper, menacingly, to each other ‘Stick’, we think, admiringly, to ourselves We smoke cancer sticks, chew on Spearmint sticks, chomp on Carrot sticks, celery sticks We crave stick-out collarbones, ribs- When we cave in, stomachs sticking out We stick our fingers down our throats Fingernails caked underneath with years of Lipsticks, eyebrow sticks, sticks to cover up Red spots, white spots, black spots As we stick to the advice in magazines- Page one: waif, page two: ‘be you’, they croon Page three: ‘I like a good listener’ Writes Joe from Rochester So we smile and nod, sticky sweet And stick j**el after j**el in our ear, so we Swish and sway pleasantly when we turn our heads To hear what they have to say We stick on eyelashes Lower our eyes in their direction- Suggestive eyes, bedroom eyes, ‘she wanted it’ eyes So they stick it in, stick it out- When we protest We are stuck up, a stick in the mud We stick our fingers when we sew up Our children’s ripped jeans Our husbands’ ripped egos We pat stick-it notes on the fridge Reminding our sons of baseball practice Reminding our daughters to Stick to their diets We ooo and aahh over Suzy’s stick figure scene The last in a series of self-portraits And if we are the kind, honey Who like to stick up into each other We stick out-- warped Eves And even with our combat boots we crumble like pick-up Sticks sometimes, away from each other, and crooked.” Mama wipes her eyes, mascara marring Her Oil of Olay face She lifts her daughter’s mouth to her nipple Rubs the padded back Peers into the clear eyes- So satisfied, belly full “‘I don’t want you sticking flowers On my grave, baby girl,’” Mama says ‘with the weight of the world On your stick shoulders Crying And not ever knowing why.’”