My mother used to tell me that only I
could make myself happy; it all starts there.
But she's never tasted the bittersweet smoke
your lips pour into my lungs.
She said "baby girl, you can't build your life
around just one person."
But never said a word abut finding home in your bed.
My father warned me about guys like you...
The ones who remind me of him.
But he's never seen your eyes glow
in moonlight like fire.
He told me I love too easily,
that my trust is slow to build.
But where was he the night you broke
your way through my defenses?
I tried to be the girl they'd be proud of,
except only you ******* undone.
And I can't remember what worry
looks like on my mother's face anymore.
And I haven't caught a whiff of my
father's cologne in years.
So maybe they don't have me all figured out,
yet maybe neither do you.