Skank

poetic_star's picture

You claim she's making you restless
with her strings of costume jewelry
and celebrity perfume that reeks
of insecurity and family issues.
But despite all your complaining,
the way I see things, your heart
is just as isolated as this girl's
and you two aren't that different.

She thinks it's funny to call her
peers names that she dug up
out of her dad's expensive yard,
covered in undeserving soil
and pubescent bacteria.

"Dance with me," she says.
"So everyone will think you're normal."
And you make excuses as
disco balls throw cliches
against the rundown walls of a gym
near the Pacific coast,
letting the sugary fruit
juice infect your blood.

Outside this hellhole,
I count how many times
my words have stuttered
and voice has died at the sight
of your desert penny eyes but
I won't go through that again
because even sand castles
get tired of being knocked down.

You swear it's no big deal
if we kiss in the men's bathroom,
no problem faking sincerity.
But I won't be your dirty little secret.
I won't help you deceive that
girl with trailer park hair
because no matter how
awful a human being she is,
I won't stoop so low;
being your day whore.

Gibberish on the phone;
it's 3 AM and I'm in bed,
wishing you'd get the hell
away from my front lawn.
There's a white trash moon
sparkling on the roof and it
fits your tears perfectly
because you were the one
who threw our friendship
over the electric fences
and dropped my hand
when I tried to help you cope
with these same-sex sparks.

And now I'm nothing to you
but an opportunity to have
some fun in the sunken grape
green hills of an invisible divide.

But I'm somebody's child, still;
not a sleazy two-hour drive or
crumpled paper apology,
police lights on Hollywood Boulevard,
stolen credit cards and
an accident in the parking lot,
waiting to ruin lives.

Comments

Bosemaster42's picture

I don't know why,

but this poem immediately made me think of walking through the entrance of Jordan Marsh's department store in downtown Boston.
Specifically, it was the entrance that brought you into the perfume and make-up section. I remember making a bee-line through there, holding my breath, so as to not get infected by the cloyingly dreadful smell of the majority of womens perfume. I was asthmatic as a child, I've since grown out of it. The smell of the perfume there was enough to initiate an attack.
I'm also reminded of the women working behind the counters with make-up so obvious and thickly applied, I wondered how men could possibly find that to be attractive.
Much angrier tone in this one, I like it!

poetic_star's picture

wow..that's no fun :( poor

wow..that's no fun :( poor kid. but yeah, I've just been feeling really angry today and yesterday when I wrote this.

angel syndrome's picture

pretty

pretty

poetic_star's picture

thank you! it's great to

thank you! it's great to hear from you :) hope everything is going well.