Calm the hell down;
We lives without luster.
With the first whisper of sunlight, though,
I believe in something more.
Omymoron, whisper of a crescendo,
Speaking to my black cherry heart.
The anger is like ruching.
Pretty on clothes,
Not so pretty in me.
But I am so superficial today.
I’ve got a sucker
And a bridge to sell you.
The flavor is black cherry.
Dark like a haunted wood,
But sweet like the spectres will come kiss you on the lips.
It’s only faux bad-ass.
I see many here at the mall
Trying on the look.
Spikes on the bottom of shiny black boots;
frost-bitten feet with daggers of ice through them.
Is this supposed to express who I am?
My choices are:
Cheesy, cheese dripping off a pretzel
Cheesy freakin’ All American Kids
Cloaked in trends and being snide
And the kids, into eschewing labels and being spiked
are a label onto themselves, and
would like you to think they’re grinding up rocks in their teeth.
They’re eating Pop Rocks.
So this is me,
The mall when I’m fifteen.
Teenyboppers, with lollypops in the hall
Black cherry lollipop, shaped like like a heart
Black cherry heart in me.