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.