I can't wait for tomorrow

for that's when there's band.

I get to play my oboe

besides, my day's not canned

like a bunch of tomatoes . . .

normally, it's bland.

There's another reason

for my joy--

my exuberance . . . you win

it's because of a boy.

But stop laughing or I'll sock you

but I'll try to play all coy.

I've never really spoken

with the apple of my eye,

but I do know for a fact

that he sadly can't fly.

When I see him, though,

my mouth gets gross and dry.

His hair falls into his face

and he softly shakes it away.

His blue eyes dance around

bemused as we play

random stuff in gym.

He also likes Green Day.

He's great at sports

surprisingly enough.

He's hard on the guys;

on us girls he's not too rough.

Though some think so,

I deny sniffing snuff.

It brings tears to my eyes

(figuratively, mind

I'd never cry over a guy)

to find

that he can't be mine.

All I can think of now is an orange rind. . . .

I'm too shy to speak

and I wouldn't know what to say.

My wits would all leave me

and I'd look like a prep or a horse with hay

if the horse was stupid.

He might not have any intention to pay

me any attention, anyway.

My emo guy doesn't know

what only four of us do.

I don't know how he feels

but chances are he doesn't feel it, too.

All he could think is that I'm "hot,"

and that's not what I want, foo.

I need to take a breather, I think

get a grip and a new guy

but being alone is painful now

and it's even more pain to say bye

to something you never had

and say it in a way that's kinda wry.