There's a paint smear on my arm,
And it means a little more to me,
Than it does to everyone else.

It makes me smile to see my labours,
Are written all over me,
And covering me in love.

There's a boombox on my window,
A stereo on top of my cassette player,
A radio that's 30 years old.

Everyone throws these away for a minimum price,
But I adore them,
My children.

A smell rubbed into a page
Because words just **** me,
It means everything.

I open my book and inhale the scent,
Remembering when I thought,
That brand of perfume wasn't that strong.

I hold certain things very dear,
As silly as they may be,
They mean a lot to me.

Just dont return my heart,
Because it means more to you,
Than it ever would to me.