what if i were a blonde bombshell
would it be different if i changed
would it be a little better
could i be a pulse on your radar
a blip on the screen
a little bit of static flipping through the channels
or maybe just me
could i have a place in line
a moment of your time
would it be different if i changed?
patient yet forlorn on saint valentine's day
People wonder why I forgive.
I wonder why they don't.
Mistakes are taken.
It is a duty,
A necessity to forgive.
To apologize for others,
When they won't for herself.
My dad asks me why I let myself get used,
I tell him
We use amazing things every day and smile.
He doesn't get it.
Every plus has a minus.
I guess I know just what you're thinking
But you know not of what I do
When I'm sitting in my room
Daydreaming only about you
I guess you feel a little foolish
I guess I acted like a fool
I wish you knew how I was feeling
I wish you knew it's all for you
I just lay my head down sometimes
It just becomes too much
To deal with
I can't feel whole
Like something important is missing
I'm just left with this
I don't know anymore
having decided that your duty is to bring music
and a little bit of danger to the lifeless streets
of suburbia, you draw yourself up as a rebel with a cause,
hold your arms out like the spirals of the milky way,
sending the glowing children congregating around you
into a feverish whirl, because space is curved
and so are the suburbs you traversed across to bring them here,
winding through hills and streets to conduct
this sermon on a mount, so even the things that
appear to move straight are really spinning around.
you have stolen your father’s turntable,
and his old records, and his oversized coat,
and while the sunset begins to stain things
in a golden light, you put the needle
on the vinyl and open old wounds
while the only voice you have ever loved
claws its way out of the box and into
the grooves of the sky, making the stars
scratch and whir, and time instead
settles into the beats, breaks its lineage,
and begins to, like everything, spin.