Dirt and Dark and Nasty

There was something beautiful about the fact
That I had decided on a day
With my black and blue hair
And black and black clothes
And black nails and glasses
And back fat and tweaked smile
And bands no one's heard of
And brands no one's heard of
And bows in my hair...
That I don't belong.

That I took that day to go shopping
And simmer in and stir
In a pot of discontent
And disillusion.

And there I met the mall goths.

There was something so beautiful about the fact
That on that very emotionally isolated day
I found a group of ten--soon twenty
In black and black clothes
And black nails and glasses
And back fat and bands and brands
And bows and they belonged
Because they belonged with each other
And they opened up their black-clad arms
Some bony, some scarred,
Some with chubby, dimpled elbows
And they welcomed me.

And we sat, something so beautiful
Caked with dirt and dark and nasty
On rooftops and playgrounds
Way past dark, way too cold
We'd huddle and cling and curse and sing,
Scream and gasp and be ironic.
We'd coagulate in the crevices
Of the parking garage
Until one of our many teased neon hairs
Showed over the cement
And cued in a cop that we were trespassing.
So then we'd run.

And we were young, and we didn't care.
And we all flirted and fussed and fun
And we hugged and kissed and cried together,
Cuddle, piss, and hide together.
Find absolutely anywhere
That we really didn't belong
And we'd make it our home.

And the group was ever-growing, ever-changing
We'd be a mass of black and crass,
Playing amoeba in the center of the mall,
Weaseling out the misfits
And pulling them through our membranes.

We'd spend our weekends seamlessly
A schedule that became comfortable as air,
Painting our faces and teasing our hair,
Stepping into our black cotton blends,
Just in case we had someone to impress.
We'd spend our parents' money
On food and clothes and CDs
Smoke and hair accessories
And we'd stay that way for hours.

And then we'd go home, so that we could sleep
So the next day, we could repeat.
♠ ♠ ♠
sometimes i have to tell myself that not every poem i write has to have involves symbolism in order to get my point across, lol.