I don’t like to rhyme Because that’s the stereotype. I love standing out, Yet I crave fitting in. I want to make a difference But I hate the attention. I want to enjoy life, But I stay in the shadows instead.
I sleep too much. Yes, I've been told. But,see, when I sleep Everything bothering me Seems to disappear, Just for a moment. The more I sleep, The longer the moments last. So yes, I sleep a lot. Maybe too much. But it's my escape To the only happy I know.
When you first meet me Just know I'm a century plant. I start as a seed, Yet I do not grow. It takes years For me to open up And experience True happiness. For this, I'm Sorry.
It seems as if All of my rhythm All of my creativity Has been suckled out Like a sad puddle On a dry day. Where have my words gone? I need them now more than ever.
How is it I build myself up Void to no emotion Then when you come along, I'm putty in your hands? All that hard work Out the window, Just for You. Mold me, I'll be anything you want. Just don't leave me. Again.
A straw house In the middle of a tornado. There's no being "ok" That straw house Is ruined. Time to pick up the pieces And start to rebuild. There's no recovery. Only a clean slate. That little straw house Will never be what it once was.