is u have to sit through all that gooey bullshit

about the world & love & blah blah blah

& just nod like ur taking it in.

everywhere u go: the supermarket,

the principal’s, they all seem so damn cheery

all the time—it’s enough to make u sick.

all those smiles plastered on their faces

like I don’t know they’re fake, salty, like

thank u Mr. So-&- So, so nice to see you

& ur basic house & ur basic car

& everyone’s selling a ten-minute miracle,

including probably him in some office downtown

they say I can possibly, one day, maybe fit into

like there’s a recipe for turning this whole world

into something edible, marketable, slathered

in lip gloss & some disgusting perfume

that would send me to the hospital if it didn’t

snatch away my breath & make me all wobbly-

kneed, especially on the girl from third period,

but it’s more than just her, it’s debilitating,

& I know ur supposed to be vulnerable

in these things, so I’ll admit that after

my neighbor’s suicide, I thought about it

for a minute, how sad u’d have to be,

& I don’t really hate the world that much,

even though it’s sometimes almost unbearable

& I say that only because this block right here,

as far as I know, is the only place in the universe

u can take a crushed aluminum can

from the street & stick it on the back of ur bicycle,

where it becomes a megaphone shouting something

I don’t even know, but it’s loud & dope

& for a second sort of beautiful…

& the birds & the oak trees & blah blah blah