Boys

Boys.
Dates - or lack thereof.
I am just one of the guys.
I am the pretty girl's really really cool friend.

Cars.
My mom's black Mercury Marquis
That Jill took one night when we were drinking
and drove in circles - sans license -
not not on her, but nonexistent -
around the parking lot of what used to be something called the Mo-No-Pole (or something like that).

That was right down the road from where Mike used to live.
We lost him shortly thereafter.
It's the end of the world as we know it.

I'm feeling icky.
I'm kind of fat -
not really, but sometimes eating disorders disagree.
That's what happens when you are whacked and quirky and stumbling
and terrified by your voracious need to fit in, to be rebellious, to be unique,
to make an impression,
to be something.
Anything.

I am something.
I am oppressed and lonely
and I have pink hair.
Mom cried when I came home with pink hair.
it would not be the last time she would cry for me,
but I bet some of those other times, she was wishing that it was just pink hair
that she was crying over.

I would give Xena, Warrior Princess, a run for her money
if I wasn't grounded so much.