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.
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.
i shared a cherry red sleeping bag with you.
fire flicker licked the cool
thigh of night.
you were cold,
so i held you.
i was bored,
so you got me high.
we were stoned,
so we laughed.
the beach and the breeze, &
your soft little -
that sweetest of nights.
so i went surfing with orofino and marmalade.
when i returned:
you were gone.
my backpack and shoes were gone.
my smile was gone.
i was gone.
What I hate most
is the image you left in my head
of the little, strawberry blonde girl,
following me everywhere I go.
you were the one too afraid to move on.
And i was the one begging for forever.
So you handed me
this perfect idea,
of me and you
and this fictitious child.
and i fell in love with us.
and you left
and stole from me a life id yet to live.
how badly I wish
I could live in that fantasy.
Where at least,
you still love me.
With her blonde hair down and her pink shades on
Rocking like some cool chick back in Eighty One
Tight blue jeans and black diamante shirt
Sun kissed shoulders and a licence to flirt
A heart of glass empty and requiring more
Bottle of red wine emotions she couldn’t pour
She said she would call me one way or another
Left me hanging on the telephone for some other
And now the tide is high and I’m right back at the start
An atomic bomb just exploded and raptured my heart
I've never had luck with blondes.
I've had lots of luck
falling ever so
in love with them.
With their eyes
of bright hues in
blue, green, and greys.
Going head over heels
for their charming smiles
that make your eyes linger a little longer
that what's permitted.
to feel their
That was easy.
But what surprised me,
kicked the backs of my knees
and made me crumble to the pavement
were that those handsome
heavenly faced blondes,
have no soul.
And I am sure of it,
they leave me...
Alone in the dark,
with not a single word.
Which leaves my thoughts
to echo in the emptiness,
rummage around inside my skull,
looking in the hollow cabinets
searching for clues
and slowly growing
But not at the blonde boys.
As of what I did wrong?
Why did they go?
How could I let this happen again?
And every time,
I can never find the reason.
Those blonde boys
just appear in the rays of the summertime
with their golden locks of hair
and leave with their icy dark souls
in the cold breeze of the fall.
And I know,
they will be back next year.
With the sun,
and my stupidity.
Until then though
I'm stuck with the abusive markings and stabbing aches.