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A concept best demonstrated by angry poetry

:::::All for a Girl:::::
You wake up and look at the photos next to your bed.
Before you roll over and reach for your robe,
You kiss the pictures and curse the morning for coming so soon…
All for a girl.

You stand in the shower in a lather-filled lethargy,
Staring at whatever scummy, sudsy tile you chose that day,
Thinking, hoping, making yourself late to work…
All for a girl.

You go see a movie with your friend.
The one you’ve had a crush on for seven years.
She’s finally ready to commit, you say, “Too late…”
All for a girl.

You quit your job, pack your bags, leave your friends,
leave your life.
You call AAA and plan a two thousand mile travel route.
You say goodbye to everything you’ve known…
All for a girl.

You dye your hair, grow a beard, give up meat, quit smoking, new wardrobe, face lift, liposuction, corrective oral surgery, N-Sync Album, weight lifting, orthopedic shoes, learn to cry, leave the seat down, wipe your feet, eat your veggies, Learn Russian in one hundred twenty eight easy lessons, don’t smother, give space, just be friends, walk the dog, wear a raincoat, learn the names of all the Backstreet Boys while reading Opra Winfrey’s selection for book of the month and leaving twenty dollars a day in the fucking swear jar she keeps over the fucking refrigerator so that you can learn to tone down your harsh fucking language and become more cultured…
All for a girl.

You sit for hours writing semi-autobiographical poetry on the back of little yellow note cards.
You wonder how and where you lost yourself; where’s your missing identity?
You’ve thrown away the individual you once were and have truly made yourself…
All for a girl.

Do you think I need dental work?

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