she's easy; it's a premature comatose
she's killing herself and we're allowing it
because we love to watch.
tell me again about the one who loved
the one who loved the one who gave good
head. then spit on me twice so that it
really sinks in.
(and here we quiet down for an elderly couple who
just wouldn't understand the irony of all of
this)

----

jane is going to fall in love
jane is going to get married
jane is going to have 2 perfect children
jane is apparently "the way to go"
but what jane doesn't know
is that her joe has a sylvia for lunch
every week day.
but i guess what jane doesn't know
won't kill her.
and it really doesn't kill me either.
because i am not jane.

did i really need to say that?

----

deciding on an "open" relationship
is really just giving one another the
liscense to cheat.
you will not find that here.
now getting a little something on the
side secretly is entirely a different thing.

still, you will not find that here.

there are no glitches in my system of
thinking, boy, so stop searching.

----

she just kept reapplying that lipstick
(everyone wants to know the shade it
seems so we'll say "man hunting red"
and leave it at that. it really has no
point in this story if this story were to
have a point)
ok, so, where were we.
ahh yes, we haven't missed much.
again, she just kept reapplying that
lipstick. jesus, i kept thinking, it must
atleast be 2 inches deep by now.
and all of that obvious preparation
would more than likely end up in the
shitter. what a waste of whatever that
stuff is made of these days. because
honestly, assuming that you're a man,
would you really want to kiss that...

she just kept reapplying that lipstick.
(sorry to those who were waiting for a
perfect BOOM! at the end of all of this. i
couldn't serve you right because i'm still
tripping on the way she just kept reapplying
that lipstick)
----

you whore.
slut.
tramp.

could you be anymore poetic than that?

ok you promiscuous meltdown
disease worthy dandelion
twisted up buttercup
hooker of harlem.

awww.

poetry just makes everything so
pretty.

(my turn)

-----

there was a party about
three or more lifetimes ago.
we were there. we didn't really know
anyone. i was feeling awfully pretty
so i talked louder than i usually do.
(blah blah blah...and then insert guy)

but he didn't want me. i said i'd be
alright as the two of you left to find
some dark. and for about five minutes
can you believe, i was actually jealous
of you.

it's only because i felt so pretty that night.
and what was his name anyway.

yeah, i figured you wouldn't remember.

----

it's NOT raining men.
hallelujah...

sorry weather girls,
i just don't feel ya this time.

09/16/2003

Author's Note: we are all poems unto ourselves with no relation to eachother, except for sometimes, when we see fit. oh, and anytime it rains.

Posted on 09/17/2003
Copyright © 2024 Olivia Weinkein