Stupid is My Middle Name

Wasting away in front of the screen
She dressed up but no place to be
She doesn’t understand this at all
She sits confused trying to figure out
What all his signals are about
Don’t waste your time he’s just messing with you baby
is he worth the trouble and the obsession
She wonders and ponders her ponders and wonders

And believes no one can feel her anxiety
only the song she keeps replaying in her head
on her itunes, and ipod, and cd player
She knows the routine.
Flirting/Kissing/Longing/Lusting/Sad/Obsession/Angry/deletes him from her life

It’s the only way she can purify herself from him

To push delete on the phone, myspace and facebook
To actually say YES on the pop up to delete or not to delete???
is that the question Willy purposed to us?


She still sits in her pool of lonely and self pitty
Begins to question herself and her body and her face
maybe if I was cooler/skinnier/prettier/more scence
Then maybe she wouldn’t have been brushed off like a
dust bunny that just wanted to take a nap under the kitchen fridge
Because there’s also a living room fridge you know.


She goes through the texts
killing her a little bit each time reading them, killing her a little bit each time deleting them
freeing her from herself by hurting her is the only way to go my friends
She thinks about the vodka sitting in the freezer
And the pills in her jewelry box so easy to take and escape into an erotic ecstasy fantasy of freedom
and tingles and a place with no limits on words or action
where consequences are not defined but forgotten about

Of course until the next day- where they come back to bite
harder than they loved on her the night before
of course she’s alone so what’s the point
instead she’ll just write a crappy poem
about stuff she’s not even sure she knows about
stuff that just comes to her mind and she rambles and rambles on

Like Robert….and his plant

She likes to think she’s pretty in her cheap metallic cheetah strapless mini dress
she likes to think her curly blonde hair is envied upon
and that the only reason boys don’t like her
is because they know they have no chance- or are intimidated

Of course- the mirror tends to disagree
and feels that the extra 10 to 7 pounds she carries is the reason
she’s sitting alone
at home
in her room
writing a stupid poem- that makes probably no sense
A poem she’s not going to reread
because she knows it’s to fresh, to sharp, to new, and to salty

To re-enter in to her traveling slowly chugging train of thought
of course maybe she’ll stop at it again
when the wounds have healed
and the problems are resolved and she’s in a content place again
but what will it drag up again for her
anything, everything, nothing??

She learned her lesson 4 years ago not go fishing in the dangerous waters of older boys
because you’ll get stuck- and for 4 years she was trapped…
and she anticipates and few more months at the least

So she stops it now the flirting/texting/kissing/fun/obsession…
of course…little do I know?? I believe it’s too late.

Too late to swim out, to save herself, to delete it all from her mind
to let myself grab onto the outstretched arms of the friend
that is calling my name
trying to save me- but a person can only be saved
if they first let themselves be saved
Can I let myself be saved?
Will I save myself?
Do I have a choice?

I will, I must, I need to prove
that no boy will have a hold over me so tight, so fierce, so powerful
that I can’t save myself from drowing
So I will delete it, I will try, I will take my cheap dress and wear it all night
and feel beautiful,
worthy,
and cherished