You can't go around loving girls like me.
Too young,
Too outspoken,
Too wild,
Too free.
A big heart under fake *****,
Size DD.
I smile so big,
Pour my man some sweet tea,
He can have whatever he wants,
As long as he wants me.

Then I consider my options,
Think of what things could be,
I run away with my heart,
But always keep it on my sleeve.
Find myself in new arms, new beds, new dreams.
These men get lost in brains of girls like me.

I wanna say that I regret it,
But I'm where I wanna be,
Finally happy, finally serene.
So I hold onto him for the moment,
Until, once again, I need to be free,
Wish he could see you just can't love the girls like me.

Lay it down for my daddy in the middle of February.
My head on his chest while he sleeps.
Hearing his sweet soul beat into my ear,
Chanting to me in a foreign language.
All the sugar and roses in the world could never be as sweet as my daddy.
I struck a chord in his heartstrings,
And he felt it real good.
I smiled, he laughed, I couldn't help myself.

I got him up to dance with me in the winter air,
But found myself on the verge of tears when the song neared its middle,
And couldn't figure out why.
But I cried, I cried, I cried.

Lay it down for my daddy in the middle of February,
He knows me so well,
My god, he knows me.
He kisses my forehead,
And forgives me for the poison I have slipped him in between my words,
I'm sorry.
I hug his waist and rest my head once again.
I hear his breaths, long and slow,
While he slips back into his dreams,
And hopes I can't hurt his tender heart until he wakes.

Lay it down for my daddy  in the middle of February,
And hope we make it to March.

His hands,
His hands,
He didn't have the right hands.

They weren't shaped right,
They weren't the right size,
They didn't feel right pressed against my body.
His hands didn't cup my ******* with love.
They didn't look like those of a strong man.

I've dreamed of these hands since I was young,
And I don't know why.
I haven't been able to find the right ones.

The right touch,
The right grasp,
The right hands.

I can see the veins,
Pressing against the surface of his skin.
The small lines sprawled across his palms.
His fingers a certain length,
His knuckles a certain size.
His hands,
The right ones.

Man of my dreams,
Only in my dreams,
His hands in my heart,
His hands the right hands.

Boxes on the highway,
Going too fast to catch a glimpse of faces.
This is all I've ever known and still, I find it strange.
Drivers and passengers,
Living lives I know nothing about,
Though there is a possibility I have passed them before, at some point,
And this makes me think.
Everywhere I look:
Ahead.
To the side.
In my rear view mirror.
So many boxes on wheels,
Racing on a road carved out of nature,
Where the rock and trees still remain but don't catch many eyes anymore.
Small, big,
Four doors, Two.
With so many people,
Conversing with each other,
Or thinking to themselves,
And none of them thinking about this.

Their confusion was real.
His chief stating feathers swayed down his back,
While he laughed with the children,
And made sure they were always happy,
For they could do no wrong in his eyes.
He adored his leadership,
He raised his head proudly,
And smiled a gentle smile.
His people would never doubt him,
For he had led the longest.
But one day,
He threw his feathers into the river,
Said a solemn, short goodbye,
And walked down a trail of tears to join another tribe.
Nobody quite understood,
He was so happy, so loving,
The one to look up to,
But they never saw him again.

I fell asleep last night with her in my bed.
My Floridian princess,
Call her my Miami Vice.
She summons euphoria in a dystopia.
She makes me sing.
I find her so perfect when she lays there in her natural beauty.
So pure.
And find myself drawn to those lips,
even when shes dressed up in lace.
So much power, she scares me sometimes, I love her.
Just wanna hold her.
My baby.
The way she makes me melt,
Until I'm just liquid wax at the bottom of my favorite candle,
I couldn't compare to anything.
She kisses my lips, my cheeks and my third eye, ever so softly.
Then lingers around my head, and my bed for hours until she finally leaves.
While I sit and just miss her.

I feel like ****.
It's hitting me now.
Love doesn't last.
It doesn't last at all.
You can try all you want
But sometimes, it's not meant to work out.

What the **** does that mean?
What the **** does that mean?
It's not meant to work out?
What the **** does that even mean?

You spend years with someone and decide that's it for you.
You don't want to do it anymore.
You don't want to share a bed, or live together.
Or make love after a long day at work.
You'd rather be with someone new.
Start fresh with a stranger.
Why
Why
Why couldn't we have done it?
Why couldn't we have worked it out?
"It's not you, baby, it's me."
No it's me, baby, it's me.
What am i doing wrong?
Baby, tell me.
"I just don't feel the same as i used to."

And that's when it gets rough.
You pull a heart out of a chest and you can't stuff it back in.
You can't shove words back down your throat.
You can't change feelings.
Everybody thinks in love you can change their mind.
But once a mind is made up, it's not going to change.
It just feeds you words that make you want to curl up and disappear.
That make you feel so ******* stupid.
All the things I did for you,
All the time I spent on you,
All the love I gave you.

But sometimes, it's not meant to work out.