(no subject)
okay i don't like this one
but it's long
and it's a poem
but i really don't like it
"so and so is such a slut"
That's what it says
all the time,
and girl keep replying
using their fake names
because that's all they know,
and that's what they've become.
The quiet girls read it,
and the goths,
and the geeks,
and the jocks, and the preps,
and the girl that's
splashing water on her face
because her dad made sure
her night was loud and sleepless
and painful
and blurry,
and he drove her to school drunk,
and that's all she could think about.
The heavy dollar store makeup
rolls off with each splash of fresh water
that she can actually see through,
and she wipes the remains of mascara
and the cool tears that stained her cheeks anyway
with a rough paper towel
that irritates her stiff skin.
Dry, they're open,
and she sees it,
and she reads it
in front of her where it's always been.
"She is such a skank!"
it says.
That was enough for her
to kiss her dad on the cheek
that next morning
and whisper goodbye,
and show the nameless
what it really was about.
"I'll never forget"
is all it says now,
and the stain's on the floor,
and they said "What a shame"
only now, they can't sleep anymore
and they can't focus
and they don't shower
and they don't eat
and they are failing
and the brands mean nothing anymore
and they throw up,
and pass out
becasue their minds can't handle
what it says on the bathroom stall.
It was her only note
that she left for this damn world,
and somehow it was better
than bringing dad's gun to school
and trying to live
in the footsteps of the nameless,
because at least this way,
they all know her name.
Glummy Glummy Atmosphere
The weather's got me quiet
and it's not like we can revert
to the audiences in our heads
or the way this is all happening,
in conversation
without being locked up,
or worse...
creating an end
to this base of all
social anxiety,
but what if I spill
the glass of information
that is this glummy point
of no return.
Because when it comes down to it,
this whole life
that I surrender to
like all those who attend
the convention of carelss jabber,
is just like asking a blind man
to paint a picture of the sunset.
Breaking down on the highway.
Operator: What is your emergency?
We've run out of fuel,
and it's raining.
but it's long
and it's a poem
but i really don't like it
"so and so is such a slut"
That's what it says
all the time,
and girl keep replying
using their fake names
because that's all they know,
and that's what they've become.
The quiet girls read it,
and the goths,
and the geeks,
and the jocks, and the preps,
and the girl that's
splashing water on her face
because her dad made sure
her night was loud and sleepless
and painful
and blurry,
and he drove her to school drunk,
and that's all she could think about.
The heavy dollar store makeup
rolls off with each splash of fresh water
that she can actually see through,
and she wipes the remains of mascara
and the cool tears that stained her cheeks anyway
with a rough paper towel
that irritates her stiff skin.
Dry, they're open,
and she sees it,
and she reads it
in front of her where it's always been.
"She is such a skank!"
it says.
That was enough for her
to kiss her dad on the cheek
that next morning
and whisper goodbye,
and show the nameless
what it really was about.
"I'll never forget"
is all it says now,
and the stain's on the floor,
and they said "What a shame"
only now, they can't sleep anymore
and they can't focus
and they don't shower
and they don't eat
and they are failing
and the brands mean nothing anymore
and they throw up,
and pass out
becasue their minds can't handle
what it says on the bathroom stall.
It was her only note
that she left for this damn world,
and somehow it was better
than bringing dad's gun to school
and trying to live
in the footsteps of the nameless,
because at least this way,
they all know her name.
Glummy Glummy Atmosphere
The weather's got me quiet
and it's not like we can revert
to the audiences in our heads
or the way this is all happening,
in conversation
without being locked up,
or worse...
creating an end
to this base of all
social anxiety,
but what if I spill
the glass of information
that is this glummy point
of no return.
Because when it comes down to it,
this whole life
that I surrender to
like all those who attend
the convention of carelss jabber,
is just like asking a blind man
to paint a picture of the sunset.
Breaking down on the highway.
Operator: What is your emergency?
We've run out of fuel,
and it's raining.