I bought a bunch of wooden soldiers.
I bought them from the store.
And now a hundred tiny soldiers
guard my bedroom door.

So if you're a scary monster-thing
who wants to go to war,
my bedroom door is open.
I'm not frightened anymore.

Sully suffers from a stutter,
simple syllables will clutter,
stalling speeches up on beaches,
like a sunken sailboat rudder.

Sully strains to say his phrases,
sickened by the sounds he raises,
strings of thoughts come out in knots,
he solves his sentences like mazes.

At night, he writes his thoughts instead
and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.

He walks confidently
But not for me...

He flips his long pefect hair
But not for me...

He plays his guitar
But not for me...

He smiles
But never for me.

I am not the girl he dreams of at night
I am not the girl he longs to speak to
I am not the girl that makes him sweat
I am not the girl that he craves to bed with

I am not anything to him
Not like she is