1. |
Adventures in Petsitting
02:05
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i feed the cats, they do nothing for me.
just fucking whine and complain a lot,
and feign disgust at the glow of tv.
it's a cold hearted caveat
i scratch their ears and they sink in their teeth.
though overwhelmed by the stink of it,
i clean their shit up
before i take off for work in the morn.
i feed the rats, and the roaches,
and these are just the vermin i know about
and this old dog she's been losing her teeth.
it's so sad they grow up so fast
her body's old, overrun with disease
i stick the pills down her throat and then,
she spits 'em up again... as if to say "let me die."
as if saying "please let me die."
the alarm's off and then i'm headed off to work again.
from the pounding in my head,
to the notes left on your desk,
i think i'm cracking from the stress.
and you're greeted by the creeps in the street,
and they treat you like a piece of meat.
the fucking assholes in the bars,
driving drunk home in their cars…
i walk their dogs around the park…
i feed the cats, they do nothing for me,
just fucking whine, but i'm used to it.
the difference is with the creeps on the street
there's no excuse but the truth is that
i find scum wherever i lay my feet,
i'm picking fleas off the dog and then
you're mopping up again,
cleaning up the puke of the damned…
it's simply how we learned how to live in this land.
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2. |
Last of the Assholes
03:46
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you didn't count on the last of the assholes
the last of the lineage, a long culmination of
your college ex boyfriends, the guys in that crust band,
the internet creeps, and your grandma's opinions.
you didn't count on the last of the assholes,
because you didn't count on letting anyone in.
after the one you thought
would be the last of the assholes
you swore you'd never let em under your skin again.
it's a jarring sensation when you've fallen under
and a mix up of anger and shame and embarrassment
is the pain that just compounds,
and comes back to haunt you
when you find that you've made
the mistake of believing in
the stories you tell yourself about how it won't happen
and the courage you earned
and then all your self-confidence
it drains when you've waved off
what you'd thought was the last of them,
to find that the next one had just gotten in again.
and when it happens again, where will you be?
what will you do if it happens to you and your whole life
you'd be subject to that shame and embarrassment
over and over again? and even if it thickens your skin
you'd be left with the lingering question of
"when would you ever trust again?"
but you didn't count on the last of the assholes.
the last of the assholes standing outside the metro,
but he hollered and called and he said
"show she me a smile, girl,"
and followed you home when you said
"you can go fuck yourself,"
you didn't count on all the incessant comments.
you didn't count on your father's third wife,
but then the last of the assholes
was your step mom's admonishments,
the words clung deeply and it stung like a knife wound.
you didn't count on the last of the assholes
but the last of the assholes
would find his way in your bed,
and you soon saw his face
in every dog out there barking at you.
when you said no, but he still did what he wanted.
then the last of the assholes
was that rip in your grocery bag.
the last of the assholes was that drunk at the bar.
the last of the assholes had you fed up and screaming
that you'd never be safe
till you were far far away from it all...
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3. |
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step one, step one is start hating your body
step two, fills you up, yeah both inside and out.
step three, step three is that familiar question
that plants in you seeds for a lifetime of doubt.
step four is the answer, step five it gets worse,
it slowly eats up your whole sense of self worth.
step six you become what the magazines taught you,
though you know that you can't, well you want to.
in the following steps, fill the void with consumption.
modern commodities keep you alive,
steps eight, nine, and ten, you will go to bed hungry.
eleven and twelve, you might barely survive
step thirteen, what luck, you are stuck in this shell,
if you even try to find love for yourself,
there will be someone waiting
to push back down on you.
you will buckle, it's a shame, now they got you.
we call for a new demonstration.
no calm till the last of us weighs in.
no calm it's already out there.
we call (it) psychological warfare.
step one to stop hating your body
is a rag in a bottle, a match and some fuel.
step two is take aim at the core of the industry,
making their cash playing head games with you.
step three, affirmation. step four is revenge.
step five is a healthy relation to sex.
step six, is forget all the shit that they taught you.
you might think that you can't, but you ought to.
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4. |
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in the corner of a crowded room,
a girl smiles in a photograph.
it's meant to show some candid truth,
but taken for you.
in the quick but disconcerting flash:
a fake smile in a photograph
that once developed, it's a portrait, true...
of the elephant in the room.
camera one moves on to subject two.
trades the film off for a little cash.
he moves on to find some other truth
sold and packaged to you.
while in the corner of a crowded room
the band plays a familiar tune.
and the kids all thrash off time, its true.
as kids often do,
but there is something else in the room.
in a quick but disconcerting flash:
a fake smile in a photograph
held just until the moment passed.
the moment of truth.
and its buried somewhere in the back
of the weekly that you find yourself staring at,
you're enamored by her charm and class.
but you know: it was taken for you.
and that's the elephant in the room.
hang on for a second can we stop
and all observe what the record shows?
we could clearly see that boys ran the show.
these were words that came too slow,
and all those glossy photos
of the quote, unquote "kids in the pit"
they will serve as exhibit two.
could tell me where's the other half?
well that's the elephant in the room.
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