I collect labels so I can hide
so I can flip the conversation
so I can hide the bad odd and spark their disinterest

In short, you see, I'm leaving.
And I've grown enough to know I'm not coming back.
I've grown enough to know that what we had was temporary
and I'll miss you,
but
but I can't promise that I won't show up crying at your door and I can't promise that I'll turn you away when you come to me.
I know I'll miss being so naive.
The world we had was so simple.
No one made mistakes.
No one showed up in ditches,
no one real anyways.
Mom and Dad were perfect.
Mom and Dad loved each other.
But, you gotta understand that I'm leaving,
and I'm grown enough to know that I can't stop you from coming with me.

It feels like a house crumbling
Like frosted grass growing between my fingers and toes in a worm ridden hollow
It feels hollow
Where a house once crumbled in the dark of day when a chorus of synths played in C minor but no one cried
Because the bombs yesterday, last month, next week swallowed their sorrow and left them hollow
It feels cold
Like frosted grass growing above me as the sun shines with renewal
Everything could be ok
Ok but hollow

I am beach sand
I began a boulder, unmolded and ruff
I could have been chiseled into the dreams of my creator
but instead I stood my ground
I let the waves guide me and arrode me to something manageable
I was climbed by the courageous out on my own, and sunk away at high tide
I wore away, giving pieces of myself to tourists and shared a collection to the ones who stayed
I am the heart shaped rock you gave to your lovely and the rock you skipped across the creek last summer then let join the pebbles below the surface
The nests of sparrows in my hands grew to eagles and flew up high
With each encounter a slice of me will beak away and I always retreat to the sea
Now I am spread around the world, in the hands of collectors and cracked on the pavement by careless jokers who arrived with hurt and left  with anger
My small grains left have joined the others who have stories of their own
I hold up the castles and lay still for your stick written words
On dressers and mountain tops, in boxes and palms
I am beach sand