i filled myself up
used holes in my skin, scratches from rumbles
to create dams that only held emotion
i ate away at the spare parts
let my hair fall to the ground
and rise like a phoenix, a different man/boy/beast than before
i was gone with the wind, right before you came
and tried to free me
from myself
i am so real, you should be scared
i am so alive, you should be scared
i am so close to being dead, you should look me in the eye
soc girls, look at them
and envy every madras sweater
or tuff corvette
i want the money, the heater
unloaded, the switch pressed
against my enemy
and this time, with a chance
of winning
i am possessed
and his spirit
is nothing for me
to interfere with
you think of me,
all i think about
is paul newman and a ride home
when i die, i want to be buried with
books, a pen and a piece of paper
because i want to write
every robert frost line,
and have it carved
into my own flesh
i am beautiful, no matter
how long the hair
or how short
they say i am a
hood, a greaser
but all i hear
is *stay gold
Written in the perspective of Ponyboy Curtis, from S.E Hinton's The Outsiders
