Straight girl walks in a crooked line
Straight to hell, ignoring the signs.
Nothing is straight under pressure,
Living under a forever broken spine.
Straight talk isn't so straight anymore,
Not when pillow talk is so much more.
Curves are more soothing than lines,
Crooked as hell; a crooked whore.
Straight-up dirty, smelling like cheap
Perfume from last night's beauty sleep.
They tell straight girl she can't love her,
But love she does, and she falls in deep.
Straight girl grows up in the wrong way,
Curving like a beanstalk; and each day,
The sky swallows her up even further.
Jack climbs, but he can't mend her fray.
Queer is an ugly word and an uglier
Shade of blacks and blues; the color
Snakes and weaves like the road to hell.
A ladyfinger; never a gentleman caller.
Straight girl knows she's not so straight
Anymore; so, that way, she stays out late
With the people she knows accept her
Not-so-straight path and chalked slate.
No doctor can heal this plague she suffers,
Not when the beaks remind her what a bluffer
She is, and that no matter how much she tries,
She will never escape the winding path, rougher
Than the straight path to the very end of hell.