Pressure is trying to pass for four when you just turned seven, at the “Miss Toddler Panama city” pageant.
You’re crammed into the same five-inch heels you wore the year before, blood pooling in your toes.
But you know if you don’t win, mom can’t fix the hole in the gator fence, so you’ll be up all night, s*ab gators.
Pressure is performing on a party boat that catches on fire, your throat burning from the smoke.
You still sing so beautifully that it calms the passengers, so that you and the crew can escape.
Pressure is singing the Yemeni national anthem while a handsome but ruthless general pushes a scimitar into your neck, Kristin Chenoweth’s corpse at your feet.
That’s pressure. – Jenna Maroney
Pressure is trying to finish the New Yorker magazine before the next issue arrives.
STRFKR concert was dope.
I guess I’m a poet now:
