College Girl

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a pretty angry poem, but perhaps more angry at myself.

Submitted: July 01, 2008

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Submitted: July 01, 2008

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So every step is a
well placed move,
You know every
hop, skip, click,
turn and slot
into the queue
to get a burger,
chips and a
health bar
Cos
you're on
a diet kick.
So the summer
dress hangs
lightly round
your hips but
your eyes cry
from a perfectly
wretched affair;

What was his name?
Kyle? Carl? Kip?
Will he see you and
think; Hey...
She's It.
Will he walk you
home, sending
birds and bees into
your flame red hair?

What a wretched affair.
What with your Eight
Pound Eighty an hour
hitting the streets,
Pushing the workers
who wash them
to join Greenpeace.
What with the;
"No sorry, miss,
I'm on my way
to dig dung pits
for Three pound
an hour."
What a wretched affair,
But maybe Kyle, or Carl
or Kip will see you
as you talk to him,
And think; Hey...
She's It.

Perhaps deep down
beneath the crust
you've hidden some
real sadness, girl.

The stuff that
shakes you to the
bone.

But for now you're
a ship on the ocean,
Hitting the sales
and thinking;

What a perfectly
wretched affair,
For an English
college girl with
flame red hair.


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