i hate that our parents taught us to muffle our emotions
and i hate the need for a cigarette that i feel in your car
i hate that when i was younger i told myself to stop writing songs
i hate the need for loving that i feel when i'm alone
but it is going to be alright sometime
it is going to be alright sometime
i feel this soft
you don't know what to do when you're cold and lonely
your sit on my bed and watch tv
the seasons are changing
your hands are frigid and you are messaging your girlfriend
telling her existential things,
bringing her into your crisis
now you're remembering when you were thirteen
and in love with ingrown ivy
and your best friend...
who told you she could never love you and said so in the cryptic bubbles
she drew in your poetry book.
you're feeling kind of restless and you know you can't contest that
there's no way
to get out of this highhandedly-
so you turn away
and you make up words to fill the pages of
your soft leather book
and you think of sweet summer, somewhere special and you crawl
into your bed
where you can be warm
and blend in -