She's a tortured soul In a privileged girl's world It's hard for me to imagine Not being able to justify my pain In a world where there's not supposed to be any problems That seems to be the problem I'd be the first to throw a fit If she ******* about the money she had But we all forget All the money in the world Can't hug empty arms Or catch a falling heart She breaks like the rest of us But fights through the pain 'Cause there's not supposed to be any problems For a girl with her last name Like Roger Clemens and his ****** sock She marches on with a bleeding heart She puts on fronts Like little black dresses It's as far as she can get From where all the stress is When she's not being herself She's being what she is Rich, white, and beautiful Nothing wrong with that Till you go home and turn off your lights Your shadow can't tell you what color you are Your 700 thread-count sheets forgot how to add And your mirror's not working right tonight All you're left with is the dark And the pain in your heart And we all know that's a deadly combination Whether you live in a box Or a mansion Daemons still torture your thoughts But just like Van Gogh and his missing ear She marches on with haunted dreams Yeah She tried to shop her way out of this One progressively lower top at a time But it doesn't matter how **** you are Or how many guys are looking at you If he's not There's no fooling yourself here It was all for him to begin with And so she finds another problem Her daddy's credit card can't buy her out of And the burden of her last name Continues to weigh down her soul Always working on herself Learning languages, instruments, diets Like she's out of Jane Austin's Demented 1800's stock market Just trying to raise her profit shares Like a Kennedy and their legacy She marches on underachieving royalty Her therapist wishes he could prescribe her a bottle of wine Knows sober she'll never give him the whole truth But a word of warning Once she starts she won't stop till she comes to And it doesn't come out in a narrative either So you have to sift through all the I'm-fat's, the nobody-likes-me's, and the do-you-think-I'm-pretty's But if you can do that You'll get to the good stuff To the he-hurt-me's, the I'm-lonely's, and the I'm-not-over-him's The my-parent's-don't-approve's, the I-feel-abandon's, and the I'm-not-over-him's again And if all that sounds familiar It's because they're universal Heart breaks don't check credit scores Daemons don't need bank statements You're never too rich to cry Like Cinderella and her glass slipper She marches on with a limp
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe http://goo.gl/5x3Tae