Twenty-years old and still wishing on shooting stars
Because a part of you is still naïve and dying
A last breathe for who you are
Paper-mache hearts aren’t going to cut it this time
They can’t fix your house of fallen cards
And at the end of the day you’ll tell yourself
You’re worth it
(I am, I am, I am, I am)

Sometimes it’s so hard to breathe
It’s all you can do to pull your hair and put your head
In between your knees
Pray to God it’ll be over soon,
Because the emptiness is sinking you like lead
Dead-weight on the bottom of the ocean
But you’re worth it
(I am, I am, I am, I am)

You ignore their questioning looks with headstrong stubbornness
Though your nails are biting through your skin
You refuse to run from this
Not this time, not ever again, let them look
At a twenty year old ****** who’s never been on a date
Because she’s got more faith in herself
Because she knows she’s worth it
(I am, I am, I am, I am)

They don’t understand why you refuse the boys who ask you
And you won’t tell them it’s because they’re not right,
As a sure as the rising moon
That you just have to keep waiting and wishing
On How, Why, and Who
Keep on throwing those pennys down wells
When it’s all you’ve got
When you know you’re worth it
(I am, I am, I am, I am)

Nights are the hardest, you know from experience
It would be so easy to put on that little black dress and find a willing stranger
To break the rose-tented lens
To feel some affection, even if it’s only for a moment
To feel something different
Than desperate hopeful prayers to a paradise that doesn’t seem to care
But you respect yourself too much for that
And you have to believe it’s worth it
(I am, I am, I am, I am)

Some days are worse than others
And you lose yourself in music, choke on your frustrated screams
Try to convince yourself you don’t feel nearly as smothered
And suffocated, as you want to be
Even though you’re smart and there’s more to life than love
The only thing that can be felt is that someone missing,
And oh God, you pray you’re worth it
It runs like mantra pounding through your head
(I am, I am, I am, I am)



*(You are, you are, you are, you are)

You say you've got it all figured out,
got the science down at age nine-teen.
I roll my eyes, because that's just silly.
I'm older than you by a year at least,
but regardless, I watch you hitch your
skirt up and strap your heels on before
leaving the house. You think I'm crazy
to stay around only to meander about
in my fuzzy socks and stained sweatshirt.

I'll have you know that I actually quite
enjoy my one-women tea parties with
Ms. Austin and the Bronte girls on a
Friday night. At least I won't get a head
ache from strobe-lights and my utter
confusion when it comes to pretty-looking
cocktails. I realize I probably won't be
seeing you until midmorning anyway
when you stumble rather impressively
into the kitchens still in your club clothes.

You'll make a disgusted noise at my
pillow fort, my coloring books, my
towering stack of certifiable Disney
DVDS and I will pretend not to notice
that you smell like stale sweat, alcohol,
and aftershave.

You will feel compelled to tell me all
about him, all about them, all about all
of last night--down to the last disturbing
detail--and I will burry my face in my cereal
so you can't see the faces I'm making.

Undoubtedly you are bragging
(or so you think), but really, I'd rather
not have had so-and-so pawing at me
all night, because neither you nor I
know where he's been, and I personally
find no appeal in waking up in someone
else's unfamiliar room because my comforter
is super soft and fluffy and I feel like a
princess when I go to bed all clean
and cute in my PJs. This way I can get up
whenever I want and take a shower and
be loud and not have to put the seat up
when I *** or quietly try and find my way
out of someone else's home.

Also, I'm lazy most of the time so
I definitely wouldn't like the walk
home so early in the day. I have to say
that I much prefer my crayons to your
aspirin, my forts to your mysterious
bathrooms, my imaginary sword fights
to your hike home. Most importantly,
I like waking up regretting nothing the
previous the night except that I didn't
get to watch all of Mulan and what her
reflection really shows.

Let’s Talk

Let’s talk, you say and I hide my smile.
Let’s talk? I think, covering my amusement.
Do you know what you’ve done?
Do you know the Pandora’s Box you’ve opened?
Let’s talk.
Oh yes, let’s.
You apparently are not aware of my manipulating nature,
You are not aware of my way with words
You are not aware of my subtle twist and turns
You are not aware that as words continue to flow out of my mouth in verbal ***** dressed up as the Mona Lisa Smile
The fault is now yours.
Do you know?
I was a lawyer in my past life.
I won every case I had.
Let’s talk you say and I try not to laugh
Because honesty is your best policy, but honesty has no place here
And I have no policy at all.
Really though, you never had a chance.
No, not against me, the liar’s poet Laureate.
Let’s talk.
And suddenly I hear the inflection in those words, the meaning buried beneath the underneath that I can’t quite catch.
I hear what you won’t say (what you have said)
“Lies tell more truth than the truth ever could.”
And if that’s the case then I’ve just told you everything you could have ever wanted to know
But all you’ve said is the truth and so far it’s shown me nothing I wasn’t already aware of.
Now I like to think I’m intuitive, that I read people like books
But your pages are closed to me, yet you speak no wrong.
My loop-t-loop monologue that not even I could understand anymore has come to an end.
Let’s talk.
I’m not smiling anymore because my pretend story of falling down stairs and walking into rails has turned to ash in my mouth
I slowly cover the bruises on my arms when I realize that you know
And that my lies have painted a picture that to everyone else was a jumbled mess.
But to you,
But to you it was as clear as day and you saw right through it.
Let’s talk.
Yes, please. Please. Let’s talk.