Lucky
(adj. blessed with good fortune, fortunate)

National Geographic never tires of the
Documentaries, special features, exposés!
Of them African kids.

Those lucky bastards.

They’re always there, like on cable TV?
Without doing anything, as far as I see,
And it’s unclear why - it’s unfair to me,
What I work for they get for like, free.

I bet it’s because of how they look.
It’s always about appearances, isn’t it?

They’ve got bronzed tans to die for,
And look at the way their ribcages show.
They’ve got totally no fat to account for,
I’m sure their BMIs must be dead low.

Not enough food? Ha.
No temptation’s more like it.
No calories, no carbs.

Can’t those aid workers see they’re
Not doing them a favour? And
It’s totally awesome how those terrorists like,
Take the food away? You know, before
It all goes straight to their thighs?

But like, whatever,
What do I care if they get fat?

Maybe there, every 3.6 seconds someone dies,
But here, every 3.6 seconds a boyfriend lies.
(& you’ve got to live with the heartbreak.)

It’s got to be easy for them.
Boyfriend break your heart?
Throw him to the vultures.
There’re enough waiting around.

Anyway, everyone knows they only exist on TV.
(& God, mine’s only an LCD.)

A/N: Look who’s back from the dead. I tried to be bimbo-esque about the whole starvation issue. This was written with inspiration from Amanda Chong’s How To Watch A Child Die (google it!) and negligible fictional force’s birth of a goddess (ID: 2115411).

(Rewritten and re-uploaded on 090407.)