An Ode to Frat Boys

If I didn’t hate consumerism

the bags under my eyes would be designer,

Prada or Salvatore Ferragamo.

If I didn’t hate conformity

maybe people wouldn’t be afraid of me.

Fuck it, I’ll accept your judgement for free,

your words are the constructive criticism

that drives me, which thrive my meaning to be.

So next time you call me a faggot

or laugh at what I wear,

take a look in the mirror

because nothing’s there and

you’re too wrapped up in your

blanket of privilege to look or care.

Brotherhood? No, all I see is self-centered

toxicity, in place to uphold your societal mold.

I envy nothing about you, nor does the world.

So please, return to your dismal drug dungeons

and disrespecting girls, because

this utopia is all yours, that’s for sure.

I do not mean to generalize, for not all

frat boys are vile. But this is to the ones

who have the conscience of a child and

hide in their own insecurities: Please remember

that you are a glaring stain on

the dress shirt of society.

But at least you’re not alone

In your soiled naiveté.