Not Much Left to Lose

come out with me
he asks
again.  again
i say no,
thank you.

when i was a kid
i had bad skin.
once a boy on the bus
called me
zit factory.

i ran home
to my mom
crying.

she told me
i wear my heart
on my sleeve.

i told her
i didn’t know
what that means.

don’t let things
hurt you
so much
she said.

twenty five years later
it still hurts
just the same

and dinner
and a movie
and a man
to tell me
i’m smart
and pretty
would go a damned
long way.