Buried

I'm getting out, and climbing back in. I miss feeling a thousand things at once, being headstrong, not being a full on adult. He symbolizes my girlhood, the one I gave to a black and white creature stuffed with softness. Oh... they're one and the same? That's is true.
I feel a little bad...
I feel a little bad for the one with the mortgage, the responsibilities, the one with their head on straight. The one with everything in place... who invited me in... but it's too restricted there. I've always said I wanted to be put in a glass case, on display, a soulless mannequin with nothing to say, a perfectly groomed, well dressed monster. There's no passion there. The trophy in the box isn't the same as the little girl with mismatched socks who also "likes fall." I'm tired of being someone's perfect accessory. I'm just glad we started out by explaining to each other exactly what we were doing together and why. Mutual using is an easy thing to get out of... the guidelines were perfectly clear. A meaningless partnership... two people... together out of spite. Trying to prove something to the past... they "no longer care about." Neither of us would be here if that were true.
My eyes are sore from crying, I hate when people catch me.
I hate when people catch me... I've been caught.

Goodbye, I'm sure you'll have millions of dollars one day.

The problem with giving your whole self away is that there's a price for it, but you can't ever pay it because you have nothing more to spare... a person requires another, the one they're giving themselves to. That person is supposed to give a small share to make up the difference. They pay the toll so you don't have to. So you don't do crazy things. Then you get to go down the road together. Otherwise you're stuck there, walking the way alone, a fool.



If you don't like me, don't look at me.