In sixth grade, a boy called me conceited
Because all my scribbles during math class were of my own name
in different handwritings and colors and sizes
If only he could see
what I really scribbled, and how
sometimes writing it down
was the only way to remember

If a man has chronic stomach trouble, a part of
him is an artist, even if it's just his stomach
But if a woman does, she's lying
I'm not being cold, it's true
She's being redundant and over-obvious
like when a man says he's lost his grip on reality
See, we're all one in the totality of our faults

It is too easy to learn, and it's too easy to rebel
It is too hard to go outside, and too hard to think
It is too boring to keep track of all that
You are rushing to tell the world

I'd have babies if I thought it
would make me a better woman
But I don't think anything can
and I might, anyway

07/22/2006

Posted on 07/27/2006
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