I've traced maps and shorelines across my own skin
to find exactly what it is I mean to you
and I have found it's just a mere puddle.  
The knife in my back pocket
is still a sharp reminder
to always watch where others stand.
Beside or behind you, they're both dangerous places.
I have spent years building mountains
around myself so no one would get close enough
to climb and I turn those mountains into excuses
and somehow let you in.

The heart on my sleeve is worn out like the latest trend
and i'm not too into fashion.
But fasten your paper heart onto mine like a seatbelt
and my tears will disintegrate what is left of it-
Together we will crash and burn.
I have spent my days paranoid and cautious
of what surrounds me and I can't help but wonder
Do all of these pictures I paint with words
even mean anything to you?
Or are they arbitrary and insignificant
like my defense mechanism while looking in the mirror-
my reflection seems to win every time.

You painted your apologies across my lips
and told me I look better without makeup.
I will not fight for your consideration.
I will not mourn over what should be mandatory.