the smart one

i have never been
the beautiful one
it has always been
my sister
my friend
my roommate
my co-worker
i’m the other one
“the smart one,”
as one barfly told me
i am the smart one
decidedly not
the beautiful one but
the weird one
the quirky one
the creative one
the gal pal
the one night stand
not not not
the forever girl
the beautiful one
i’m pretty
i’m the girl next door
i have
a nice
but…you know…
i am not
helen of troy.

i dunno. maybe on some level we all feel this way? i know my sister (“the pretty one,” per that same barfly) was recently lamenting that i was the one everyone thought was prettiest. of course, her only reference was my aunt marilyn…though my other sister’s mother-in-law also said it. but, you know what? that’s a fucking crappy thing to say to any sister. “you’re the pretty one.” fuck that bullshit.
i know i’m not beautiful.
but i have so much more. so much more!

now if i could just stop binge-watching high school romances i might be able to function again.


of troy

i wish i had a face
that could launch
a thousand ships
i wish my face could launch
a thousand ships
i wish wars
were fought
over me
paintings painted
sculptures sculpted
songs sung
to me
i wish someone
a mused with me
to have me
hold center stage
in the story of their

i know it’s selfish & vain…and i wouldn’t really want wars fought over me…not really really. maybe a tussle.
i always joked that i had kids so someone would love me best…at least for a little while. and, yes, i am sure they will write stories about me–you know, like mommy dearest….


i only know one poem written about me or for me. it was called “sandwich eyes” and was written by someone i used to stalk. it’s okay. he liked that i stalked him & would actually seek me out if i stopped. he was a wonderful poet. one of the best. and it is a really nice poem…but he never loved me. he just enjoyed the attention of a crazy stalker chick.
goddammit, do you know how many musicians i have dated? nothing.
i keep reading all these fucking love poems & trying not to be bitter.
it’s hard not to be bitter.
so i guess i’m just supposed to accept that i am not the kind of person to inspire that kind of passion?
or i just haven’t met my homer….


another take on my being un-a-muse-d…from my 90s comic, confusion perfume.

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