smart, popular boys in third grade,
with their stupid khakis
and dumb sweatshirts.
i didnt want their popularity,
i wanted to be a boy.
a smart boy with stupid khakis
and a dumb sweatshirt

the kind, pretty girls in fourth grade
their pretty hair
and painted nails
i didnt want to be a pretty girl like them
i admired them
but i was too young,
and it was too wrong

it was wrong to want to be a boy,
to want to love a girl,
want to be a smart boy
with pretty hair
and painted nails

i should've been the perfect daughter,
but im a smart boy
with pretty hair
and painted nails.

i used to try and make believe you were the other half of me.

i want to jump off a bridge
and feel the strange way the air brushes against my back
as i fall towards the sea
the way it sends a warm, but bittersweet chill up my spine.

i want to jump off a bridge
and count the seconds it takes me to fall
how long would it take really?
how long would it take?

i want to jump off a bridge
and focus on the world as it shifts from the view at the top
to the view of the shimmering ocean
when i hit it, will it ripple? will i cause a difference?

i want to jump off a bridge
and let the freezing water entangle me
taking me under even more so than before
under, under, under

i want to jump off a bridge
and see what it feels like to want to live again
feel the sting of regret and missed chances
and the longing to go back

i want