Trying to find a place to cry.
How pathetic is that.
Not my house,
My family will ask.
Not my dorm,
My roommate will wonder.
Can't park in my car,
People will pull over.
(People are so god damn kind in that way).
So I'll drive.
And I'll cry.
Like a child
Who didn't get his way.
Which,
In a way,
Is fairly accurate.
But I need to cry somewhere.
The pressure is building up
In my head
In my heart
In the pit of my stomach.
Waiting there
To make its debut.
So I'll drive.
And I'll cry.
And I'll let it all out.
Because I want you
But he has you
And I didn't get my way.
And on second thought no,
Not like a child.
A child is much more
Mature.
Because I won't apologize
For throwing a fit.
Because I still want you.
So I'll just drive for awhile.
And let it all out
On the road.
Throwing a fit
In my '91 Chevy.