alone by the window

poor little cafe girl,
hiding behind in your zip up,
eighteen and and already hating it-
and you're going gray inside.
behind your red curls
you're the girl who hates math
and just wants to be a teacher
but you are learning that you hate children
and they don't seem to care much for you.

if he would just appear in the doorway
make good on his promise
to keep you from another lonely dorm night
with the roommates who despise you
because they think you feel you're better than they are-
smarter than they are-
because you do
because you are.
they buy their groceries-
stock the communal refrigerator
and remind you-
with notes on your dry erase board
that you owe $24.11.
Don't pay it.
Just paint your nails and rebel
against them.