I am the fallout of a sunny day in September.
I am in debt from listening to lectures
spewed from the mouths of journalism professors
who openly admit to being cynical
about the jobs I’m applying for.
But what options do I have
with student loan payments
and journalism being what it is today?
If we put a price on the objective truth,
would it come with free shipping?
Oh my dear capitalist society,
saturate me in the sauce you call democracy,
and I’ll taste all right to all the guys
who see me as a piece of meat.
Mom calls the girls I see
experiments like science projects,
a phase like the way the seasons change.
You’d think repetition would dull heightened senses;
See, there’s this word,
a buzzword I always hear –
They fear my generation is desensitized,
but we’ll still cringe and cry at the sound of gun shots…
then clap our sugar-soaked hands together
for that R-rated Golden Globe Award winner.
I heard war is best captured in the HollyWood deserts.
And remember that tragedy on NBC:
It was Christmas Eve
when FedEx delivered that discount Amazon iPad.
“To Caroline. Love Santa.”
a pretty white house in Newtown, Connecticut.
See, little Caroline is an angel now.
Does that mean she knows the truth now
about the nice-list: It’s just
Santa Claus doesn’t exist.
Corporate marketing BULLSHIT.
Pardon my anger,
I’ve just been questioning higher powers –
Have you ever seen the Mediterranean Sea?
iGoogle that sometimes,
and it looks a whole lot like paradise
surrounded by rebellion
sponsored by the blogosphere,
and economic turmoil
while royalty is on a shopping spree.
I am the fallout of fashion week.
When I was 18 I dated a guy
who said we were so cute
we could be Tumblr famous.
When I broke up with him,
Mom sat me down and said,
“I think he might be gay.”
Three years later I’d correct her:
No Mom, that’s me.
No worries though
in vitro is safe, and I think
I can get married in more than half the states,
but there’s no guarantee
there will be a drop in the divorce rate.
I’ll still strive for a soul mate though
because that’s better than
the stereotype of living with nine cats.
You know, I don’t even really like cats.
I’d rather be that teacher who calls all students her children.
I’ll be an English teacher.
Riddle me this for your first assignment:
Is Jodi Picoult a novelist
Or the greatest mathematician?
Moral dilemma + six different perspectives = a Kardashian ass-sized paycheck
But hey, I can’t be one to judge.
A girl two years older than me
once called me too young,
but I know for sure
she wasn’t standing on the Seabright Bridge
watching the smoke rise over the horizon
with her mom telling her
next time we drive into the city
you’ll have to find a new landmark,
and there’s a few funerals we have to go to.
How old is your soul is a better question.
There are 9 year olds in Syria
who would give anything for a childhood,
and I know
I will never be able to relate
but little girl,
I’ll keep you in mind tonight.
I’ll download an image
of your bare feet and dirty face,
adjust it in Photoshop
to be sure for viral reblogs
Because then I’ll know I’ve done my part, right?
How did we survive without Internet?
How did we connect before it was instant?
My resumé is nothing but good politics.
I’ve got a few good internships,
but I measure my success in happiness,
because in a world banking off madness,
love is the only thing that makes sense.
Love is the only thing that makes sense.