Other Girls Ain’t Me
Other girls never gave you flowers
or copies of High Times,
but they paid for your Sapphire and tonics,
just the same as me.
Other girls bought you boxers with hearts on them.
They never wore the black-mesh and blue-lace thong
with the tiny black form-fitting halter-top nightie.
They wore t-shirts and boxers to bed.
Other girls never gave head,
and if they did, they sure as hell didn’t know
how to do it like me.
Other girls were strippers
or stalkers
or way out of your league.
One girl was a dyke,
not a lipstick lesbian, or a just plain lesbian,
but a card-carrying dyke.
She fucked you anyway.
You showed up at Mitch’s with her
and ditched her for me.
Other girls never got it,
didn’t laugh when you farted,
didn’t buy weed or coke,
didn’t get the joke,
didn’t know how to toke,
didn’t get along with the blokes.
Other girls wanted too much
or needed too little.
I was perfect – a perfect middle.
I knew how much to give,
I knew what made you cringe.
Still, in the end,
we went our separate ways,
looking for better days
where other girls would deal with your BS,
let you regress –
other girls who wear electric blue nail polish,
who tease and spray their hair until it looks varnished,
other girls playing games,
who bitch, whine, moan, complain
other girls who are girly girls –
can’t flow, can’t skate, won’t jump a gate?!
What’s it take
to make a man happy?
You want the best of both worlds –
The Madonna and the whore
virgin and sinner forever more,
tomboy and priss all in one,
the girl who knows how to throw down,
and the one who’s no fun.
I don’t get it.
What can we do?
We’ll never meet your impossible standards.
You don’t know how to choose
between what you think you want
and what you really want to do.
It seems to me
other girls are doomed.
Me, I’m not like other girls –
I’ll find the right man
if it’s in the card’s,
if it’s part of my hand.
I think I got a royal flush this time.
I beat the other girls –
the jackpots mine.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
