I'm sure the more you think about it
the less you want to be with me.
I'm sure the cons
outweigh the pros
and I know
I'm not all that pretty.
And you can't always read me
but you can read what I wrote,
problem is, if I don't write,
You don't know.
All the other girls have their sanity
and their fancy clothes and smiles,
and their money.
But what I have is originality.
My bangs and my funny faces,
can't seem to catch up
with all that stability.
I can make a war with my words,
I can paint a sonnet for your eyes alone,
or I can wallow in my regret,
and hope no one finds me,
and hope no one knows.
Just like me and Betty,
playing for the stray cats,
all the birds come flying back,
to watch me,
they struggle to see what words I will choose,
or what chords i will sing.
I wanted to be more than just an example
of what you should be looking for
in someone else.
I wanted to be your apple,
but truth is, even if I was
we both know you aren't ready for it.
They always run
cuz I come on too strong.
But I don't know
any other way to come.
And even if you could
turn the dial lower,
make my face darker,
and my words quieter,
I don't know that you would.
I think you like me the way I am,
you just like me better on the shelf.
All the beauty I create,
will never supercede
the need for you to be by yourself.