Buffalo '66

I could’ve been born in the Midwest with parents who were the same size and had the same length hair so that you couldn’t tell them apart from behind, parents who wore matching buffalo football jackets and spoke as though the t.v. were always on with the volume turned up. I could have gone to church every Sunday and truly believed that everyone was going to hell. I could have been in and out of jail trying to shake the temper I inherited from my father. I could have only wished that an immediate family member wouldn’t die for the sole reason of not wanting to visit home and not because I cared. I could’ve married the one person who asked me because I feared that no one would ever ask again and because even though he hits me, he doesn’t mean it. I could have been barren when I only wanted a child to have one friend in the world. I could have died on my way to a job where no one would even notice I wasn’t there.
But this isn’t my life.
Instead, I sit here and voice my grievances over stupid boys. That’s pretty fucking lucky.