I looked at my face in the the glass,
Light hitting just like you liked it to,
No pictures for you.
It’s just me in this worn out room, who bore witness to the thing we called us.
From scratchy notes passed to perfumed letters to late night phone calls to frantic prayers to tear soaked sheets
You’re probably with your family and by now they’ve forgotten “that bitch’s” name, but I remember every detail of the life I once shared.
Now, I look at myself for me.
My eyes are the same shade of not-quite-green, and I’m not exactly sure what that really means.
The flowers I picked today are my own, there are no thorns in these pretty bones.
I’m not bitter, I’m not hardened, I’m not rough.
I love all the stuff I used to love.
I still put daisies in my hair, I still talk to birds when no one’s there, I still sing that tune in the cold night air.
God Only Knows what I’d be without you.
Turns out, it’s nothing new.
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 12:31 PM UTC
I looked at my face in the the glass,
Light hitting just like you liked it to,
No pictures for you.
It’s just me in this worn out room, who bore witness to the thing we called us.
From scratchy notes passed to perfumed letters to late night phone calls to frantic prayers to tear soaked sheets
You’re probably with your family and by now they’ve forgotten “that bitch’s” name, but I remember every detail of the life I once shared.
Now, I look at myself for me.
My eyes are the same shade of not-quite-green, and I’m not exactly sure what that really means.
The flowers I picked today are my own, there are no thorns in these pretty bones.
I’m not bitter, I’m not hardened, I’m not rough.
I love all the stuff I used to love.
I still put daisies in my hair, I still talk to birds when no one’s there, I still sing that tune in the cold night air.
God Only Knows what I’d be without you.
Turns out, it’s nothing new.