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Janis Ian |
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Miscellaneous |
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At Seventeen |
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I learned the truth at seventeen |
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That love was meant for beauty queens |
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And high school girls with clear skinned smiles |
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Who married young and then retired. |
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The valentines I never knew |
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The Friday night charades of youth |
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Were spent on one more beautiful |
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At seventeen I learned the truth. |
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And those of us with ravaged faces |
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Lacking in the social graces |
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Desperately remained at home |
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Inventing lovers on the phone |
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Who called to say come dance with me |
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and murmured vague obscenities |
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It isn't all it seems |
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At seventeen. |
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A brown eyed girl in hand me downs |
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Whose name I never could pronounce |
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said, Pity please the ones who serve |
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They only get what they deserve. |
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The rich relationed hometown queen |
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Married into what she needs |
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A guarantee of company |
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And haven for the elderly. |
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Remember those who win the game |
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Lose the love they sought to gain |
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Indebentures of quality |
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And dubious integrity. |
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Their small town eyes will gape at you |
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in dull surprise when payment due |
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Exceeds accounts received |
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At seventeen. |
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To those of us who know the pain |
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Of valentines that never came, |
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And those whose names were never called |
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When choosing sides for basketball. |
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It was long ago and far away |
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The world was younger than today |
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And dreams were all they gave for free |
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To ugly duckling girls like me. |
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We all play the game and when we dare |
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To cheat ourselves at solitaire |
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Inventing lovers on the phone |
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Repenting other lives unknown |
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That call and say, come dance with me |
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and murmur vague obscenities |
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At ugly girls like me |
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At seventeen. |
