Author's Note: Again, just in case you were wondering or didn't read my other poem "A Statement on Emo," I'm not making fun of emo kids. Especially since I've been called emo before. Well, indirectly - a couple of my guy friends said that judging by my myspace, one would think I was emo. Don't ask me why. But whatever. Mostly it's a statement about (a) love and lack thereof (b) hypocrisy. Although I know I didn't spell that right and I'm much too lazy to look it up. So, enjoy.
You pretty emo boy with your pretty emo hair
and your pretty emo clothes and your pretty emo stare,
you are not the only one who feels a broken heart.
You are not the only one whose world's falling apart.
Your parents say they hate you, you say your life's a mess,
you met a girl at the concert last night, but you lost her address.
Life's so hard when it's you against the world
and when your hand is still unheld by a pretty emo girl.
You write your pretty emo songs and play the notes on your guitar,
and you'll be famous someday but have no recording deal so far.
You're the kind of guy that the preppy kids despise
and look upon you with distaste and scorn reflected in their eyes.
Your pants would probably fit me (or any girl under thirteen),
but things aren't really quite as bad as you make them seem.
I've got my own problems – this stupid boy can't see
what everyone else says is obvious – kid, you ain't got nothin' on me.