Don't romanticize life.
Dirt is dirt.
Ugly is ugly.
Trees burn.
And sometimes things are ****.

Nobody's perfect.
Especially you.
Nothing is perfect.
Especially your perfect eyes.
And how you laid perfectly with your head in my lap.
And how you perfectly stared at that purple octogon on the wall.
And how I called you perfect.
Imperfect.

Don't romanticize those books you read.
I could burn every copy.
Don't exaggerate how much you love that author.
I could shoot him in the chest.
Don't talk about a greater good.
I know we don't have one.

You.
Don't have one.

Selfish.
Skinny.
Pale girl.
With imperfect perfect eyes.

It must be great to be one of your shape
who's not a particular shape at all
Troll around, flip floppy, like a four sided ball.
An oval, you wish! Maybe an octogon, or a blob, so long as it's hip.
Can't you tell by that chip?
It's the one up your ***... If you call it an ***...
Oh, snap! That's your face?!  
Wow, where the **** is your soul?!
What!.? you aint got one?
Nor an opinion of your own
Too many points your trying to make man
grow a pair momma's boy get out of her hole,
**** it's pathetic when squares try to roll.