"I Wish That I Was Her"

(from The Venus Complex)

When I’m walking around town / eyes averted, looking down

hearing that familiar sound: / questions cracking through the crowd

whispering, but far too loud, / I tell myself, keep your head bowed.

I hear them say that I’m confusing

when really, I’m just a loser musing,

but either would have made smarter choosing

than just wishing I was her.

I see her in the bars at night, / her smile like quick-silver light.

It may be wrong, but feels so right, / that as my envy starts to stir

and who I am becomes a blur, / I down a shot, let my words slur.

And you might think I’m not a lady,

but if you said it, I’d call you crazy,

screaming as my mind gets hazy

that I wish that I was her.

I saw her at the store today - / risked a glance then walked away –

forced my narrow hips to sway / with rehearsed gender performance -

I’m not a fan of conformance; / now your disgust just feels enormous.

And you may say I’m too rehersive,

that gender shouldn’t be discursive,

and, of course, I’d be more terse if

I wasn’t wishing I was her.

I try my hardest to impress you, / dreaming that I might undress you –

that is, of course, all unless you / feel the need to find her better…

My self-loathing’s not alcoholic / (though I lean toward the melancholic),

and, of course, this girl’s symbolic - / a symbol to which I’m succumbing,

as I find my painted nails drumming / and my thoughts always plumbing

exhaustive new depths of despair

as I wish that I could be her.

And you might tell me I’m dramatic –

which always makes me so ecstatic

to realize my life’s thematic –

always wanting to be her.

I’ve tripped over every star I’ve wished on,

burned that old couch we first kissed on,

hated how my love gets switched on -

and now, I really must insist on

you telling me that I’m prettier than her…

You may say I’m self-obsessive,

but that mind set’s just regressive;

really, I’m just too possessive –

and now, you’ve worn out the largesse of

my attention span, which is depleting –

I’m sick to death of all this pleading,

I’m done with this sad competing:

I’m prettier than her – no more repeating.

(I’m prettier than her)

#thevenuscomplex