I wear boy jeans.
It's true. Only I bought them by accident.
But I wear them on purpose.
I wear boy jeans and I think about girls
They're dark, dark blue and straight
(Not the girls, the jeans)
Except for where they gather at my ankles
Because I'm too short
Or maybe boys are too tall.
I'm not straight like my jeans.
Except where they gather at my ankles,
Only, I don't really gather things.
Not at my ankles or anywhere else.
I actually lose things most of the time.
So maybe I should keep my keys
And my promises and my spare change
In the upturned cuffs of my jeans.
Because, like I said, boys are too tall.
Or maybe I just don't measure up.
I wear boy jeans and I think about girls.
I said I'm not straight like my jeans
But I still like boys sometimes
And I kiss them sometimes, too.
And I think I've loved a few of them.
So I guess I'm not happy, either.
Gay, I mean. Not happy. Gay.
I wear boy jeans and I think about a girl
I wasn't telling the truth before, when I said I t