Hypocrite

You scream sorority and
cry out for Greek letters--to paint your lips
wet, smoking out spells and living under tunnels
with the graffiti in your back pocket.

All a letter for endorsement into what
you aren't,
and better than who you are now.

But I'm just the poetical hypocrite.
My faults,

they're limited to where I sleep
and the number of pillows I lay beside my shapeless
shapeless
body.

I am Play-Doh and my face is handsome and girls touch it
and it's strange and not planned but 
I wish only one person liked me
so it wouldn't be so difficult to
be so

unoriginal.
Our photographs, mattress,

or your necklace with a receipt
is all I am.