Life is $#
Tears stream. What cruelty is this?
Pull down your one inch zipper
(don't bother) and strip.
Throw your pants against the door.
Dig your couture and find a shard to bring
to your wrists but stop after half a thought
(scars are ick anyways).
Shit shit shit life.
Cry in your closet
where you bury your "demons"
beneath the shadows
of your chinatown
Dior. Chanel. Louis Vuitton.
Grasp your peroxide hair
and blame your roots.
But don't stop screaming.
You'll go tanning.
Come home at 5 in the morning.
Runaway with your 17 year-old boyfriend.
18. 19. 24 year-old boyfriend.
Cream your mascara in your palms.
Admire the wreckage in the mirror.
You're such a damned tragedy.
Angsty angsty angsty tragedy.
(somebody should make a movie)
Controlling. They're unbelievable.
Your red spotted underwear last month
proved your femininity (yet, not your virginity).
And you're a woman, you don't need their home.
Pull your vodka out and get drunk on the floor.
But before you do that, don't forget to write a poem.