State School, Commuter College Blues

I’m the owner of two judging eyes, 
A restless pair of feet, 
Some sharp hip bones,
A bunch of white teeth, 
A wide mouth, 
Two small, soft hands, 
A couple of gangly legs, 
Thin arms I left someone draw on, 
A left to right part in my brown hair, 
And a jagged pair of cheek bones. 

The beautiful girls love to photograph themselves
and the girls with baggage film themselves fucking
and the boys with white teeth dog all the chicks
and the girls with good dads find a boy who won’t dog them
and the dogs bark at anything that stumbles by.

The girls who envy Marilyn Monroe dream of finding Kennedy 
and the girls with no self esteem shoot to be Maggie Gyllenhaal
and the boys with no confidence sit around at home
and the boys who want to be rock stars stare at their eyes in the mirror
and the kids play ball out in the street. 

The winds blow so freely through your hair
and the moon paints something perfect on your skin
and the gloom puts thickness in your eyelashes 
and the smell you carry holds me tight 
and the mind would feel less if it knew more. 

The sensitive kids become overly internal 
and the outspoken princes get their noses broken
and the sexy chicks with annoying voices moan like the Sirens
and the high school outcasts never forgive their oppressors
and the wind blows the drifters from place to space. 

The frat kids drug the fresh meat with a chemical infused juice
and the fresh meat regret wearing such short dresses
and the pleasure addicts just say they live in the moment
and the sorority girls are just begging for your eyes
and the proud fathers hold their daughter’s hands as they walk them into school.

I have a laundry list of complaints: 
a bad past,
a jealous mind,
an obsession with pleasure, 
a broken heart, 
a number of mistresses, 
an empty wallet, 
a wandering mind, 
a fragmented soul
and a flare for the dramatic. 

The homeowners have to cut their lawns every weekend
and the kids who don’t fuckin’ care never shave their pubes
and the girls who’re whipped grow landing strips on command
and the alcoholic’s son always takes the biggest sips 
and the little boys dream of growing up and being just like dad.

The kindergarten teacher digs dominatrix
and the basketball coach is mixing his medicines
and the sister is sneaking someone in the side door
and the grandparents are hooked on Percocet
and the lady at the bank always gives a good smile. 

You never seem to stick around, 
and I’m not sure I want you to, 
and I don’t think I can take care of an angel,
and I don’t want to keep fucking with your mind, 
and I can’t figure out what keeps fucking with mine.

The girls who envy Marilyn Monroe cry themselves to sleep after bad days
and the girls with no self esteem spread their legs to mask their sorrow,
and the boys with no confidence make friends on the computers, 
and the boys who want to be rock stars scoff at everyone who doesn’t like punk rock
and the handsome little boys take walks in the evening with their mothers. 

The beautiful girls dress themselves in the last fashion, 
and the girls with baggage talk shit about the girls they think are prettier than them. 
and the boys with white teeth live in fancy flats, 
and the girls with white teeth walk their boys on leashes, 
and the cats cry hysterically when you try to put a leash around their necks. 

I’m looking for something eternal, 
anything that lasts longer than a pair of shoes, 
something to lend my lips to, 
anything that sees the way I do, 
something to replace my highs, 
anything that doesn’t run on batteries, 
something to let me sing in key, 
anything with an original melody, 
something that won’t twist and spin it, 
anything to quiet the cynic.