What's Different?

sarah-sad-matcha Poems

Tell mother I found my way and this time I'll stay Tell insegnante I've got something to say and it all still sounds the same but I'm saying it my way Tell my favorite songs I think they're too long because they contain more than what I've seen Yell at the devil for being too loud, leaving me deaf, though I hear well enough, and tell him I've heard, well, enough of his cliche, heavy metal crowd Yell at the band wagon Tell it to stop for an oil change, and make sure it never rides again Its passengers have something to say, though they don't want to stay but they don't want to go away, though their noses are too long, and there's no fire in their song Tell them to say it their way though they want to runaway from their minds and from their hearts while never growing apart They can't have the best of both worlds My mind curls to the beat of its own bongos and shades of pink and red and black I find I don't lack firm ground, but am more abundant in frowns sometimes more abundant in smiles. Depends on the weather. After the people leave, that's when I know where I've come, how far I've come back to them So tell my best friend I'm still intact Tell the crowd I'm not out-of-whack Tell my favorite songs I've turned them into facts Tell all poets their words aren't to blame Tell mother that I'm okay