Some guy asked me out today,
got some cheap roses in his hands
and cheaper words on his tongue.
Thinking he’d cover up the callousness
of his all too thin wallet, with a bunch
of flowery sentimentality.
Thinks he’s the gentleman now.
He grins proudly, the buds in his hands.
They cost half of his weekly income but they’re still
only the cheapest in the store.
And yet he presents them proudly, like
I’m supposed to swoon now.
He’s got soot on his cheek, and sweat on his brow.
His jeans are all grimy, with holes at the knees,
and he blew all his cash on a bouquet of
wilting greenery.
Like I’d fall for that kind of thing.
Oh honey, if you’d given me the money instead,
I’d have said yes.
Narcissistic. hmm... Unfortunately, I have to write an autobiography for my English class and must free myself of narcissism, else my autobiography will be indigestible.