I’m not one for writing hate-mail,
But I’m going to go postal
If one more person asks me
What I’m doing with my life.
I have aces and eights emblazed on my chest.
I have never worn a vest,
But if I did,
That’s where I would keep my cards.
Go ahead and tell me again
How smart I am,
How I can do anything.
That’s precisely the problem.
The reason I’ve spent two semesters at community college,
And changed my major four fucking times.
Ask me again,
Don’t you like math?
I’ll tell you again,
Yeah, I do, sometimes.
Know what else I like sometimes?
English, science, art, music, silence, business, pleasure, pain, the rain, the sun, the moon, the earth, helping people, hurting people, Buddhism, BDSM, feminism, comic books, poetry, punk rock, rock climbing, roller coasters, rocket science, astronomy, amateur phlebotomy, philosophy, psychology, psychopathy, serenity, cigarettes, chaos theory, coffee, canis vulpis, and carnivorous plants.
I am complicated,
Even my eyes can’t commit to a color.
They are blue green or grey,
Depending on my coat.
I am chameleon on mescaline,
A kaleidoscope of crazy,
I was born in the year of Schroedinger’s cat.
I am quantum uncertain.
You can count on me for two things,
Obsession and compulsion.
For the rest, no promises.
In my chest, lodestone spins.
This compass rose on my breastbone
Just won’t show me north.
No, I don’t know where I’m going,
And I won’t stop for directions.
You can keep your Polaris.
And I’ll follow my dog star.