when i was little my dad used to
call himself God, used to tell me
airplanes were bumblebees, told
me "bored" was just a plank of wood
so that was impossible--
never mumble, use an inside voice
but there's an outside voice, but
i never learned to speak with
conviction from him--

lately i've been calling my brothers
the weeds back there are taking over,
the spiders are everywhere,
god, zak, my heart is breaking
god, little sister I wish I was there, but
I'm not girly.

people used to tell me to howl at the moon
but i've always been afraid of my  own voice
always wanted to scream but replaced the urge
with a smile

be blameless and innocent? Lord, I've been trying
but you can't force what you ain't,
tryin' doesn't seem to be enough for you either
but i've come to find i don't know you as well as
i thought, so bear with me while
I am, while I am
tryin'

i don't want to go anywhere too fast
i'd prefer you know what my grass
stained feet look like or know the
way my shoulders roll into the
hot light.

Jarod was talking about how
it hit him two months later,
how the air suddenly left his
body and he woke up at 1:30 am
with the burning desire to drive to
Texas, so he did. Although, he didn't
tell us any of this in the week that his
chest was splitting open while he laughed
at our jokes and sipped on in-house americanos
that didn't soothe any breakage