they are already past their peak,
at only 18
that's a hard fact
to feel.
but if you asked
them how much
they had left,
they truly believe
they haven't
even started yet.
but i see decay,
gravity, and
metabolism are
already betraying.
miss teen something or other
rattles on and on about her
ingenious selection of
"georgia on my mind",
she doesn't come off
as a queen,
as she twitches with every
side glance toward me,
as her hands fumble
awkwardly,
as her ******* appear through
her t-shirt,
so much for something or other
royalty.
her friend miss broken arrow
of 2007 goes on and on
about her fattening ***
but her friend reassures her
that the judges like that.
i can see them better than
they see themselves.
i see them as stretch marks,
as time-battered vocal chords,
as wrinkles, as used up
objects cast aside
like boring toys
flung by hungry boys.
50 years from now
if they make it that
long,
they will look into
withered mirrors
with runny mascara
about their eyes
and they will
wish,
that someone
would just recognize
them for the things
they did.
i feel so sorry for
the formers,
never again reaching
the height of glory.
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:14 PM UTC
they are already past their peak,
at only 18
that's a hard fact
to feel.
but if you asked
them how much
they had left,
they truly believe
they haven't
even started yet.
but i see decay,
gravity, and
metabolism are
already betraying.
miss teen something or other
rattles on and on about her
ingenious selection of
"georgia on my mind",
she doesn't come off
as a queen,
as she twitches with every
side glance toward me,
as her hands fumble
awkwardly,
as her ******* appear through
her t-shirt,
so much for something or other
royalty.
her friend miss broken arrow
of 2007 goes on and on
about her fattening ***
but her friend reassures her
that the judges like that.
i can see them better than
they see themselves.
i see them as stretch marks,
as time-battered vocal chords,
as wrinkles, as used up
objects cast aside
like boring toys
flung by hungry boys.
50 years from now
if they make it that
long,
they will look into
withered mirrors
with runny mascara
about their eyes
and they will
wish,
that someone
would just recognize
them for the things
they did.
i feel so sorry for
the formers,
never again reaching
the height of glory.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
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