Tonight, the cool three convene
in a dark corner of the scene,
all exclusive, handsome, and husky,
their smarmy velvet voices shaded
with hints of bitter freeze,
cold just so, that all the meek
stay away from their pride,
far off the party line,
over here under the Exit sign,
standing right beside me,
an adult suddenly transformed
into a gawky, awkward teen
wearing ginormous, shiny metal braces
covering anxiously crowding inadequacies.
With wordless, waning wallweeds,
I stand watching inconspicuously
this ever so captivating trilogy
wearing tight, toned skin
and through sexy, slanted grins
whisper somethings among the guys
below sly, snickering eyes
before pointing their unified
mirrorball glare condescendingly
over at – oh please, I pray not at me,
who even if in a bright green, silk-screened T
and side-cocked, black, tall trucker cap
could never hope to look as cool as that,
so the self-esteem of my internal teen empties
only to refill to the brim with envy.
Yes, I realize that I should come to my senses
knowing we're all self-conscious adult adolescents
when utterly stripped of all our pretenses
under last-call's harsh bright fluorescents,
but sometimes like tonight I just can't help it
that the insecure me feels like a big misfit
and becomes a dejected killjoy
annoyed by all the cool boys.
