It's not vanity, it's confidence

It makes us go queer

Beauty, that is

Or rather, fear

Vanity truly is a strange notion

Or is it the security of our wildest emotion?

We search much too hard for such gilded appearance

When beauty hides the most hateful of tyrants

If it’s not beauty, it’s jealousy

That makes mankind fall to its knees

Upon such lack

And embarrassment

We grow disdain in our breasts

A mere accident

So do remember what I have to tell

That beauty is a mask we humans miss well

It makes men and women fall to their knees

Beauty, not love, is the disease

Your relevance is nilch

And everyone notices

I can see it in their faces as you run me over

I hold my tongue to hear your stories

That aren’t even relevant

They’re not even relevant!

And I’m sorry

But I enjoy talking

(I really REALLY do)

And I can’t

Because I have to hold my most profound thoughts from you

Because you think you are the most profound

Always

But there’s nothing profound about drinking

I actually think you lose all clarity and meaning when you do that

And yet you make it out like you’re this all-wise-and-profound treasure

Is it too harsh to say…

YOU’RE NOT

?

I’ve heard enough boyfriend stories

I really have

It doesn’t even make sense

Why everything you do is much harder than everything I do

I’ve stopped feeling sorry

I even tune you out sometimes

Because I don’t want to get angry

I couldn’t explain to you what I’m angry about even if I wanted to

That’s the worst part

Don’t you think?

That the profound you can’t understand my headache

When you tell me never-ending details

Unnecessary details

I thought details were lovely

Until I heard yours

And I’m sorry

So I’ve written this awful poem that I hope you’ll never read

Instead of being angry with you

Because I still think you’re wonderful

Just not relevant

Or profound

My mom uses the term a lot. And I can’t say I really know what it means.

She typically uses it to describe pasty white dudes, you know, the sunburnt-within-thirty-seconds-of-sun-exposure kinda guys with freckles all up their arms and legs. They’ve also gotta be real tall. Like, 6’4” or something equally satisfactory. Oh, and it’s always the kinda guy who could eat an entire buffalo without gaining half a pound. Glasses also add to your score. Basically, it’s her idea of the perfect man: tall and skinny and dorky (and white).

She’s used this term to describe a few guys. One of them was Kaley’s (now ex-) boyfriend Bobby. My mom really liked him. I don’t even think they talked for longer than 15 minutes, but no matter, he’s an all-American man! She also used the term to describe these two guys on my swim team, urging me to date them moments later.

Now, I’ve noticed a trend. These characteristics all sound curiously similar to those of my father.

Sometimes I laugh at my mother’s ideals. And sometimes I get a little fearful that whoever I choose won’t be the all-American man she’s looking for. =P