i wrote this down at 4 in the morning
it didnt make sense then and it doesnt make sense now
but it does make sense to write it down at 4 a.m.
ive never felt so violated before
fighting my way past prying eyes and trying times
im making left turns at red lights
and lurking the interweb more often then usual
this rainy city winter under a stolen hoodie always looks the same...
its obvious im as cliche as "catcher in the rye" (but its the best there is)
i look back sometimes at the things i write and i want to throw it all away
but there will always be those days when it gets bad
and the words just fall off my tongue and fingertips
but when its at its worst, the words are contrite and unavoidably cliche
not that it matters but when posts start disappearing
its just me realizing that im just being overdramatic
i'm looking in mirrors and laughing cause im in on it...
60 degree weather,
out of season strawberries,
spring is overdue it in its arrival,
the (oh)baby blue sky is lacking in luster
girls rule the message board while boys try to hold onto the mike
broken promises have lost their meaning
and so have the random postings of makeout queens and princes of scene
i sat at a bohemian cafe wondering if everyone there was truly an intellectual
or maybe the pair of glasses worn half way down the nose
is a sign that maybe everyone is just as cliche as me(im as cliche as everyone else)
this day is dragging with no help
tedious...
unflinching...
dont make any sudden moves or you(i) might wake them(her)
from their nostalgic conversations about places theyve never been to
lack luster sky
rain
coffee shops
me(you)
her(them)
rainy city winter
catcher in the rye
a personality reminiscent of cut-out seventeen magzine articles
theyre(shes) all the same...
home...
home is where you make it
mine is the five inch spot on the small of her back
the safest place in the world to be...
