I was born in Salisbury,
Salisbury,
I was born in Salisbury
And no one knows me there.

There’s no money in Spencer,
Spencer
There’s no money in Spencer
Everyone thinks that’s fair.

Granite Quarry is still there,
still there.
Granite Quarry is still there,
And so’s my fam’ly, too.

There’s strangers now in Charlotte,
Charlotte,
There’s strangers now in Charlotte
And they don’t even care.

Copyright © 2018 - Zane Safrit - All rights reserved.

alright.
so i'm determined to write about something other than this boy
because i keep writing poems about him
and they basically all sound the same

because i think maybe i'm desperately in love with him
and he hurts me
all the time without knowing


but i'm going to write this poem about something else.
i'm going to talk about grocery lists

and cell phone numbers
and matching pale blue shirts
and push up bras that make me blink rapidly.

garage sales where i buy a wallet, a movie or two, a dress with a stain
on the top left shoulder


but it smells really nice.




and vegetarians.
why are they all vegetarians?

i'll talk about
tall glasses of cold milk
and little old ladies with bonnets on their heads.
how could anyone steal from her?
it broke my heart to see her cry as she spoke to the police officer.

i'll talk about not wearing ******* on a sunday night at the computer
wearing that dress with the stain
that i bought at the garage sale (smells like clean laundry and my fifth grade teacher)
and an uncomfortable bra

my scalp is itchy



i'm going to write about new york.
it's so ****** far away
but movies make me feel like i live there.
and movies that are set in minnesota(my homestate)
make me feel depressed and angry
(like NewInTown,Juno ***** that crap. we aren't like that.)




wow, this poem ***** even worse than the ones about that boy.



life is funny that way