by Angela Thomas

I am soo stoopid sometimes. I called this man
with no interest whatsoever in me and I cryed
over the phone to him. Stoopid. He just told
me to hush and explained that I was just tipsy
and I was really fine. I sat on the floor of my
bedroom, with the dead phone in my hand
sobbing because no one wanted to talk to me
and I couldn't find any kind words. I am stoopid
to believe that I could be worth anything more
than all of the crap that I get. My karma is out
of control. I went out the other night, and you
know what, one of the girls I was with pitched
a little hissy fit. Why do all the guys want to
talk to you all the time??
I just sat back
and looked at her and replied, because I don't
say things like that, stoopid.
and that was
the end of our little conversation. So, when I was
sitting on my floor crying, that's what I was thinking,
why do they talk to me? Because, seriously, I feel
like I'm the one who's fucking stoopid.


Author's Note: kind of a stream of conciousness piece of crap. eh, whatever.

Posted on 04/11/2005
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 04/11/05 at 10:59 AM

you spell stoopid like i spell dood... and what shannon said, good, i like it.

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