She’s seen for what she wears
for what's beneath the fabric,
Nothing more, nothing less.
She can’t stop what's going to happen next,
But that's her fault.

It’s just a regular day for you and everyone else like you.
Just something to do and forget about later.
You can act impulsively,
But it's her and everyone else like her who has to live in fear about that.
Not you,
Nor the ones who make the rules.
The ones without a care in their minds about this are the ones who are in control of her decisions.
The ones who don’t need to think about what they wear,
Where they are,
Or who they’re with,
Are the ones making her think about them.

She’s living in handcuffs and its as if this is a mockery of her.
Are you just testing her to see if the handcuffs are secure?
That they’re fully locked?
Don’t worry.
They can’t come undone.
You won’t let them come undone.

And that's just how it works.
We need to hold your hand.
We need to follow you, the leader.
We need to change ourselves because it's our problem.
We are the scapegoats to the polluted minds of the animals in control of us.

It's our skin, our body,
That we will have to live the rest of our lives with.
But since it's our body, it's our fault.

My mind runs.
I tell it not to, but it seems to be training for a marathon at the moment.
It runs more than a mile a minute.
I could be doing one thing at a time, but its still multitasking.
My mind is constantly playing, like tv static in my head.
The thoughts get cramped up in my tiny skull,
That they move down and throughout my body.
Doing nothing isn’t nothing.
It’s like I’m running the marathon with my mind.
With all of that going on,
Even waking up is tiring.

But I like when it storms outside.
I like to sit in my quiet room, listening.
To the claps of thunder,
The pounding of the rain,
and the wind pulling the trees every which way.
The chaos outside is bigger than imaginable.
Its Mother Nature for god's sake.
So, it makes my own thunderstorm a little less important.
It makes the runner up there stop for a water break.
It lowers the volume of the tv static playing in my mind.
It opens my body to freely release all the cramped up thoughts.
And I actually feel comfortable.

Eventually, though, it will just be back to me and my thoughts.
That's why the only reason why I dislike thunderstorms, is because they end.

I whispered into the cup,
Hoping that it would travel through that string,
And eventually make it to the other side,
Your cup
And into your ear.
That you would hear my words
Whats it like over there?
Its nice where I am.
Although I think of you from time to time.
So I whispered into that cup
Hoping for the string to carry my message,
But I didn’t know that you cut that string already.