and packed up
and utterly inaccessible.
I'm sore and I'm bleeding.
I'm tired of all of the needing.
Will I sleep in a bed tomorrow night?
Where?
With whom?
Where will I be the night after that?
I'm reflective / introspective / and not at all selective.
Animal collective.
Court and spark,
I feel like we've never been in the dark.
Caves and graves and basements.
I do incredibly foolish things under the influence.
Am I trying to prove to myself that I'm fun and out-going?
Or am I trying to prove it to you?
Either way, the next morning I look and feel like an asshole.
How anyone can stand to spend more than 5 minutes at a time with me will always amaze me.
I'm too honest and the only time I said, "no." I didn't mean it.
Or did I?
How will I ever know?
Will I ever get the chance to say, "I was just kidding. Yes. Fuck it. Let's do this."
Or will I move on and find new things to ignore?
New songs which will remind me of how silly I was?
Every year I think, "This is the best year of my life!"
And then I get older and can't believe just how much better it is.
I hope that never ends.
I already accept that this isn't it but...
some small part,
whether it's my brain or my heart,
says I'll fall in love when the leaves change their color and the trees shed their skin.
I'll be happy and learning and wear coats and scarves.
I'll finally be able to drink in bars.
In a house with a fireplace,
my cat,
my photos,
and stuff to put around my neck.
And you'll see.
It won't be like the drunk's wisdom.
I won't be that girl for so many people which leaves them wishing down the line that they
could've
should've
would've
loved me.
I can't possibly be more assertive. It's not my way.
I'm gentle and gullible and a whole gang of other words beginning with g's.
But in the autumn I'll be warm and content.
Settled--
like the dirt in my shoes,
the wine in my glass,
a cowgirl's blues,
alas.
Or at last?
I don't know where I want this to go.
I just know that I don't want it to end.
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