i hate flowers

the dominoes stood ready,

anticipating a single moment to begin

so they may fall one by one at each other's side.

i dare to ask a question,

and i already know the outcome -

without a little mystery,

and extra, curtained in droves,

deniably, set up for the show,

enticed to perform and knocked down.

because we can, we don't, exposure therapy,

and nobody's got the point of Mean Girls since 2004,

as daring to be unnormal is the new norm,

as long as it doesn't upset your peers.

you've been provided with a list.

these are pre-approved ideas for your histories -

you may choose your back-story now,

if you wish to move forward.

it better be fucking wonderful,

and everybody hopes this is a joke.

easy enough to say it must be true that i like the attention,

cause i haven't met a rule i haven't broken.

i am method,

but you could consider it splatter art.

as i wear out the rest of my unwelcome,

in the spirit of shocking coincidence:

i'm that one domino that was just made wrong;

the ruiner of hopes;

the sorbose crusher of dreams;

the reason there are no nice things;

and i hate flowers for growing in dirt,

if you believe the rumors are true.

nobody notices that,

clearly, i missed the memo.