Incurable Paroles

to turn my solar panels and face the freeze.
You look to me as a mirror in the foyer.
We no longer know what to do with ourselves.
I feel like an unknown periodical discontinued...
yet still on the shelf.
I was almost out the door when the phone rang,
when I heard that voice I felt nothing
but the closing of the door.
Me and my kind are incurable.
Still, I hate it when I hear her say, "What's with you anyway?"
Me and my kind are incurable.
Made to feel shame, sickened by the fear;
throwing up on pre-test; not allowed to take the post-test.
Raised in a city dead from the sun down.
Yeah, turns out third grade is a lot like the world.
Sixth grade; endless days, fielding the short hop among all of the odd balls.
Kim's hair and its perfect part;
and there's me scribbling my plea,
my awkwardness knowing no bounds.
Made to feel wanted six times And an affection for high-heeled boots began with her, not you.
I hear that daytime voice, cotton skirt, night club
night before nervous
after a hard hand stamp, nothing more beautiful than
watching the doorman's girlfriend tear through all of his fast food.
I am incurable but still improving.
Though I am slightly less than remarkable,
yes, I'm still worth knowing.
No more dreams; no more wishing;
I'll be done as the earth rolls on.
This world belongs to the young.