The cool guys get all the girls
They play the old game of cat and mouse for fear of intimacy, I suppose
Against the intellect of the poet’s prose

The cool guys are self possessed
Their image in the mirror refuses to disclose
They’re inferiority toward the poet’s prose

The cool guys exhibit primal rage
Their fists against their chests in dark shadows
Attempting to scare the poet from his prose

The cool guys are over exaggerated
Pumping their muscles to impose
On the poet’s fit prose

The cool guys get all the girls
Wining and dining and notching their belts with the thorn of an old rose
While the poet gets all his words arranged into good hearted prose