madfuzzyme's profile

Through the back door: It's a tight fit, But the front door Has a rusty doorknob, Splintered doorjams, And the doorbell's broken. So, the back door it is. It's not rusty, And the creaks and groans Of the wooden planks Only bely its eagerness to be Traversed more often, Regardless of the dead rats Underneath.

Why do I have you? I don't use you, Not even when I want to. It's not that you're broken, really. It's that I don't work. I'm a statistic of the worst sort, A quarter won't achieve the same. And yet you sit, Behind my books, Taunting me, Especially when I press my own doorbell And get nothing But a garbled response. But you were expensive, And one day I might work, So I'll keep you.

I'll say it this way, So that if you don't get it, I'll feel superior, Even with my handicap.

I'm being specific, But you don't know, 'Cause I've locked up my meaning With allusory words All in order to hide my embarrassment, My humility, And my eagerness to overcome "it". Because "that", among all things, Scares off the boys I need. I am never less Than two things at once.

You. Don't. Want. To. Know. Because I fling myself at those who do. Because I only tell those I trust- Those whom I think Might be willing to go All the way For a friend. Because, just because you know my plight, Doesn't mean you'll take one for the team. Team Adrienne, that is.