Friday, February 27, 2009



I'm so cold and cruel
I don't sing along
I'm less of a daughter
just ask my mother

I'm just cold
I said
with my head in the oven
and a pencil in my hand

I bit my lip once
so hard it bled
but its all in my head
just ask my dad

But what would I ask
Shakespeare' sister
when I don't listen too well

I'm just like my brothers
I put dents in my cans
and as much like the others
as you say I am

But can I stay out all night
if I'm wearing white
after Labor Day?

And they say that I'm a dreamer...
but you didn't leave my window in vain
I was just expecting rain
and what would they say
if I choked on my wedding ring?

I'm full of rejections
the ring in my nose said so
until the girl next to me
in Contemporary American Lit
got one too

But what would they say to know
that I'm most comfortable
in a bachelor pad?
and I'm not much for dancing on bars
but sometimes
my guts hurt
because they're so empty


And in the bathroom stall
of a strobe lit bar
we did shotguns
because we were no good at beer pong

And these are the girls...

The girls you want to take home
even though
you know
you'll never make them come

But if you really want the key
our celibacy
is hidden in notebooks
with silk pages
like the ones you passed around the freshman dorms
at 4 AM
you knew
that the girls who weren't afrain to drink
really wanted to open their thighs
like those pages
and your vulnerability

My sisters and I
we are no Ophelia
like you are no Prophet Prince
you don't know the end
any more than I do

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