A D*ck Pic? How Kind!
In a better world, the sun and moon are lesbians
and everything else is laminated and clean
but instead, I wait, scabby-kneed for a man
who leaves the toilet seat up and my back crooked.
This isn’t what I learned from Hallmark’s Christmas in July,
and I’m confused.
I’ve dreamed of Disney Channel Original Movie romance
more than once, but as a member of the generation
raised by blue light and over-exposed to expectations
encouraged by mass-media, I refuse to apologize for tempting fate.
I’ve fallen for my best friend’s slow-burn style and fantasized
about hydrangea bushes backed by picket fences.
I’ve already had my first love and my second and my third,
but I guess Nicolas Sparks doesn’t like me or something.
Where’s my love and first grind at a Delta Chi frat party?
Where’s my American Dream College Edition?
It’s with the regular American Dream, buried by date rape
and loans. A hidden clause stamped into the bricking
of earth-toned-suburbia. The best man probably won’t win
apples to apples, dust to dust.