Occupy Yourself

Nobody’s perfect: And so, at work
While I’m supposed to be selling assholes funny costumes for offensive parties,
Morons who shop for pleasure things they neither want nor need,
And the occasional hot girl something revealing,

I’m not thinking about:
The death of elvis, jesus, joey r or hunter s
How illegal it is to get stoned with a girl and fuck her ass
How wearing ripped stockings with no underwear is dangerous
Or how I should really be wearing a face mask

Perverts who make excuses to touch me while I’m working
That guy’s under aged wife and her fake tan
Not sir mix a lot and all the rap I love
Or waiters who always call my boyfriends ma’am

I’m not thinking about having a country or having a cunt
Breaking my teeth,
Being stone, being a top or asking for it
or how macho is the new kissing which was the new fisting but that was last year

Not about: no white xmas for my kids
No immigration laws that make sense
No stopping the jerk in my guts when I see a cop car.
Concentration camps or how they’re like other things
Or killing fields gifts from my homeland to yours

Not about how this city makes me want to have psychic force-feeding powers,
How the conspiracy of women must someday extend to my hometown
Or the motorcycle tour I must go on, pickin' up girls and poetry along the way.

No, I’m avoiding thinking about:
How I never saw my grammas grave
how people can start and stop loving each other and
men who’ve thrown me around

The death of my friend and how I’ll never know him any better than I did,
The death of my last three relationships,
Every time I’ve fucked something up
Or that what I’ve left behind is obliterated by the next disaster

and I’m not even thinking about
Butch privilege, femme invisibility, femme privilege, butches getting harassed,
or how people think that butch femme is fucked up when baby, it’s just hot/gendered/fucking

third wave, new wave or Walking down the street with only one place to go
not about faith healing, not about snake handling, not about speaking in tongues
and definitely not about Rimbaud,
not the latest heat, my last kiss, my most recent or manifestos

not the new planets, the new Titan, the bigger and better space program
my pointless stoner ideas, my excellent late night dreams
seeing a party at the end of my bed and sleeping
or how I’d love to be truly awake and work just never does it for me.

No sitting at my retail job – which is better than some jobs but worse than others – the usual topics just won’t do and I am, Picture perfect, because pictures contain everything, considering this:

Everyone everyone everyone is cooler than me

everyone is cooler than me
everyone is cooler than me
everyone is cooler than me

thank fucking god thank fucking god
Everyone everyone everyone is cooler than me

and it’s going to be just fine
everything is going fine
I breathe a sigh of relief!
(fuck yeah)

So when you’re walking down the street
And you need something to occupy yourself
Think of people you’ll be seeing again and how good it is,
How good it is, not to have to impress them