Cigar cutter arms Reaching, ever reaching But are they mine Or yours? There’s nothing to do There’s nothing I can do Just leave me to myself He emotes so hard It’s so hard to emote Slammed doors Shut mind Heavy with pain In his knees In his brain Pulls him under Waves crashing, crunching My body Keeps getting thinner He holds my head under He is a strong swimmer
I attempt to align my aches with his For every one of his nightmares I have a memory For every panic attack A physical assault I consider propping up his bruises with my scars We could build a church Or a bar Structured out of bullet holes Supported by columns of razor burns
I buy a plane ticket instead I build wings from all my tickets I build a house, a home, a car, a manicured lawn A husband, 2.4 kids, a dog, memberships with Al-Anon And yet I still have leftovers To share With all the angels of this city
But oh, what a pity That audacity Is not the same as love Diseased pigeons don’t count as doves He said, “Baby, it’s all in your head” I said, “Yeah, well, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
I am a runaway woman-******* the loose Dodge bullets, dodge compliments Slide out of my noose There’s nothing I can’t do I’ll just leave you to yourself I’ll just leave you
I am notorious Notoriously hard to get I will always be the girl who finds a way The woman who gets her way The one who got away Just in time