It can be rough out there |
I jaded myself before I knew the term I drew numbers on my wrists that signified something I didn’t want to explain I rubbed my fingers on printer paper that rejected oil but I made the smudges work for me I jotted lyrics on my homework that whispered in my ear long after I’d cried over them I rejected my corporate pedigree in favor of a yellow brick road I ran away I ran away again I ran away and I said I’m better I am not better I am worse I laid down the pen and picked up a textbook I rolled up my feelings and wrung them out I switched rose-colored glasses for sunglasses I chose to to act instead of sing I puffed away my pain and bought the lies that criss-crossed my life I snapped I snapped in two I snapped and looked at the pieces I am not smart I am emotional I purchased until I was bum broke and begging for cash I ignored the letters that screamed warnings and allowed the red flags to accumulate I justified myself to gullible people and gave them half a story I let the tide of foolery carry loves lost over cliffs of uncertainty I yearned for more but the numbers on my wrists had vanished a century ago I changed I changed like that I changed and packed my things I am not home I am lost I threw myself into a pool on a summer day and squealed with how good it felt I whittled my wallet to work in my favor at a bar with a stream of strangers I allowed myself to unshackle and struck a deal with my guardian angel I downloaded new things and questioned reflections I took off the sunglasses and dusted off the rose-colored ones I lived I lived for me I lived and went to concerts alone I am not lonely I am brave I bought a sketchbook and filled it up with terrible doodles I closed my ears to the corporate pedigree and sang over their meetings I figured “What’s the worst that could happen?” if I replied to a story I boarded a plane and escaped in a white car while snow tickled my nose I listened to my heart and picked up the pen again I grew up I grew up for real I grew up and I forgave my past selves I am not a disappointment I am just me |