My fiancée’s Parent's House

My fiancée’s Parents

Oh to be that girl in the back of the bus with the braids in her hair and head phones on, music blasting through them, she starts to sing out loud, off key, but doesn’t realize that she’s doing it. To be that man with the long unwashed tasseled hair and glasses with the distinct odor of alcohol that slips from between his chapped mustached lips.

To be anyone but whom I have become, living with a voided existence, like having a car but no license or a free bus pass but no where to go, living in a bedroom in the basement of my fiancée’s Parents house.

To be that girl with the long blond hair and large breasts, that struggle to be freed from her too tight garment. Oh what a life she might lead, but maybe she is jealous of me. The chubby red head in a blue jean jacket with blue back pack music echoing from my head phones as I listen with content to the beautiful music that blasts from them. Oh to be anyone but me. A girl living in a bedroom in the basement of my fiancée’s Parents house