Other Girls

Why are all these girls writing poems about skin?
Like, omg I'm so ugly, please love me while I cut deeper in?

Everything's about no fear and no pain,
healing and looking at yourself in the mirror again,

and when it's not about self-sacrifice or some hormonal self-assurance fight,
it's a boy that hurt some feelings, like "what? a penis doesn't have a brain?
I thought he said he loved me just like the rest of the football team!"

Why are all these girls musing over themselves?
Do you know how fucking boring it is to read,

"I thought he loved me I think he fucked me I thought I loved me but I cut my wrists, see?"

Don't you have a dead uncle, or a fucked up friend? Don't you have a conflicted co-worker
or a sexually confused boyfriend?

Because you're line-art eyeliner and salty tears don't mean shit on the other side of the computer screen, keep it in the journals,

write us poems about other girls.