it's not me pushing you away except it actually is me
it's the kind of morning that the wind is blowing just right so that the open flag flutters in front of the window where i can see it
the kind of morning i don't need coffee and i try not to think about
it too much
(i just wanted to be the girl in an owl city song)
pacing back and forth in straight lines and gritting my teeth against an onslaught of small town gunfire
(i'll bet annmarie never had scars or scratches brielle didn't cry and shake for hours thinking how to end it all it turned out okay for anna and vienna probably knew how to dance between the snowflakes and underneath her regret)
i've never been good at drowning out thoughts they just get louder the longer time rolls on
good at rolling out cookie dough and good at drowning in dishwater when the brownie batter's baking and the bowl needs washing when nobody's looking
(i've had moments here and there in golden sneakers and navy blue lace covered dresses but i'm not the girl in an owl city song not something worth writing dreamy poems about not so lovestruck you replace your words with dada)
girls like me wear flannel khaki too much day old eyeliner too many day old scones have half heads of weird colored hair and spend valentines day alone watching tv
so maybe why i'm bitter as the inside of a lemon is that i'll never be able to change to someone drenched in verbena spinning through the sunny skies between your fingers
You burn So softly, almost As if your light Flickered and fought But dimmed, And bled towards the night, Amidst the broken undertones Of burning plumes Puffing Lost desires.