American Gothic

I keep dreamin' of this dude. Thinkin' one day he might just run into me while gettin' coffee. Or be bold and knock on my door. I'll scream softly if it happens. A little ah! He's heard it before. But, in this life, only the ones who get big screams show up. With ugly fingers to pick my pockets and bitey teeth tryin' to circumcise me. I don't like pain. I'm waiting on the happily ever after. I'm a fucking girl. I see me and the man in American Gothic. I'm not the daughter but there's a pitchfork, bad weave, and we're solemn. With weird similarities and big ole differences. Never wanted to get married before. Crazy. As for kids, I'd do it, but mine would be respectful and have great hair. Or we could get a snake instead. Some barn kittens and damn, I'm so sad. Called my aunt who lost her husband early. How do you do this, this life without love? 30 years. Cruises. I go on cruises. I count the change in my pocket. Best that he's not here to see me like this. Busted, broke, bitten, and still confused about everything except the ache. The tears are real. I feel this loss. Everybody sick of hearing his name, yo. I'm tired of saying it. He is so a fucking Boudreaux.