04-28-2013, 02:32 AM
I've always been a creep.
I can't do anything,
because everyone thinks it's strange.
I went into a bar
and sat down next to a somewhat overweight girl
with red bumps on her lips,
and I asked if I could buy her a drink,
and she said, "Fuck off, creep!"
So I did,
I fucked right on off.
I started spending lots of time at home.
But people kept calling me,
trying to sell me something.
I never told anybody to fuck off,
and they kept calling and calling,
though I never bought anything.
One time a girl called,
I don't even remember what it was
she was trying to sell me.
I could tell by her voice,
she was black and pretty.
I talked to her for twenty minutes
about how I didn't want to give her my address,
and that I had no need for whatever she was selling.
She said, "You've talked with me for twenty minutes
and you're not going to give me your address?"
I could tell she was realizing how weird that was.
"I told you from the beginning I wasn't interested."
I said.—Then she hung up.
That was the closest any pretty black girl
has ever come to my house.
Oh, except for the time after I got out
of the hospital,
and someone from the state had to drive me
to some kind of social worker to process my
readjustment.
Though they didn't sound as pretty as the girl on the phone.
The social worker asked me if I wanted a job.
I said, "No."
She asked me if I needed to join any help groups.
I said, "No."
She asked me why I made this appointment,
and I told her I didn't,
the hospital did.
When my hair was long, people said it was weird.
When I cut it, those same people told me I shouldn't have
cut it.
When I grew my beard out long,
girls told me it looked good on me,
when I asked them out,
they said they never date guys with beards.
I told a girl one time that I think
it's that people simply don't like me,
there must be something about me that people don't like.
She told me, "With a negative attitude like that,
it's no wonder nobody likes you."
Then she spent the next four hours telling me
how sad she felt because she was all alone.
I can't do anything,
because everyone thinks it's strange.
I went into a bar
and sat down next to a somewhat overweight girl
with red bumps on her lips,
and I asked if I could buy her a drink,
and she said, "Fuck off, creep!"
So I did,
I fucked right on off.
I started spending lots of time at home.
But people kept calling me,
trying to sell me something.
I never told anybody to fuck off,
and they kept calling and calling,
though I never bought anything.
One time a girl called,
I don't even remember what it was
she was trying to sell me.
I could tell by her voice,
she was black and pretty.
I talked to her for twenty minutes
about how I didn't want to give her my address,
and that I had no need for whatever she was selling.
She said, "You've talked with me for twenty minutes
and you're not going to give me your address?"
I could tell she was realizing how weird that was.
"I told you from the beginning I wasn't interested."
I said.—Then she hung up.
That was the closest any pretty black girl
has ever come to my house.
Oh, except for the time after I got out
of the hospital,
and someone from the state had to drive me
to some kind of social worker to process my
readjustment.
Though they didn't sound as pretty as the girl on the phone.
The social worker asked me if I wanted a job.
I said, "No."
She asked me if I needed to join any help groups.
I said, "No."
She asked me why I made this appointment,
and I told her I didn't,
the hospital did.
When my hair was long, people said it was weird.
When I cut it, those same people told me I shouldn't have
cut it.
When I grew my beard out long,
girls told me it looked good on me,
when I asked them out,
they said they never date guys with beards.
I told a girl one time that I think
it's that people simply don't like me,
there must be something about me that people don't like.
She told me, "With a negative attitude like that,
it's no wonder nobody likes you."
Then she spent the next four hours telling me
how sad she felt because she was all alone.
