Nostalgia
Listening to my 'Nostalgia' playlist.
Nothing to do with you, and maybe
(Maybe?)
that's what I need right now.
Because my jaw hurts and I'm staring
at an open jar of peanut butter
and eating rabbit food
though the chewing makes my teeth hurt
because it's what I want.
Isn't that what you want, to get me off?
And I'm sure you don't even know that song
And I'm sure you don't know I love it
And I'm sure you can't guess why,
because probably I couldn't even tell you.
And it's becoming more obvious
that every time I'm dissatisfied
it's my own fault.
And it's becoming more obvious
that every time I'm dissatisfied
it's because I don't trust you.
I reach a hurdle in our relationship
and it doesn't occur to me to jump it.
It doesn't occur to me that I ought to
leap into your arms with great abandon
that perhaps I wouldn't hurt myself
if I didn't hesitate.
And I don't suppose I ever told you
that I had 'Piano Man' stuck in my head
all through Kansas,
that I love that song as well.
And I don't suppose you're aware
of my favourite book,
or why it is that.
You don't know any of these things,
because I never mention them
in the times we're together.
What do I talk about, I wonder?
I cannot remember the words.
That I enjoy power
because I give you the power
when I give you an inch of my trust.
My favourite salad dressing
is blue cheese; the thick kind.
I like tapioca pudding
and posole; the spicy kind.
I wish I could play the memories for you
so you could understand me.
One in the morning
one of four on the dance floor
rocking to Donna Summer's "Last Dance"
because I know it will be
for tonight, anyway.
Last year, heating up the dance floor
at that party I wasn't originally invited to,
causing a distraction
sliding across the floor
and generally having a time of it.
It's why I love music
and tight clothes:
the attention that I get.
It's easier to tell the truth to strangers.
It's easier to be myself with strangers.
I can't tell you about the girl
I wish I could be
who flirts with girls
and teases men
and lives it up because she loves it.
(Because I love it.)
There are things I just can't say
because I don't know the words
because I can't get them out
because when it comes down to it
I'm still nine years old
shy and scared
blowing out the candles of my birthday cake
and wishing for happiness.
I've learned to act since then.
I've learned to lie since then.
Everything before then was a base coat.
Everything after that was confusion.
And it's only just now that I'm figuring it out.
That I'm still that girl
shy and scared
with the more confident best friend
and the artsy best friend
and the tomboy best friend
and I was the smart one,
the know-it-all
the teacher's pet
who didn't fit in.
So these days I wear corsets in public
and write poems and draw
and revel in my biceps
but I'm still that girl at heart,
shy and scared.
So you're wondering if I'm bored with this,
you're wondering why I'm vacillating
how I can feel like this and that at the same time.
I'm wondering if I'm crap at this,
this girlfriend thing,
if I'll die alone, or with a cat or two,
if I'll ever get the right words out
when it matters.
Because I can write down my emotions all day.
Because I can work it out, find exactly
the sentence that I want to use
with the words all put in order.
Because at my computer I can relax
eat a chocolate pudding
and admit my feelings
in my own due time.
When I'm with you
my heart pounds
my mouth gets dry
my stomach swirls
and my brain goes fuzzy.
I know the words,
they're all there in my encyclopedia
but my sweaty fingers
can't find the page.
So I could say "I'm feeling a little bit off right now,
like there's something we should talk about,
like there's something I need to say"
but it proves much too difficult
so I pull out the polite smile
and life moves on
and I sigh with relief
though there's no solution found.
Nothing to do with you, and maybe
(Maybe?)
that's what I need right now.
Because my jaw hurts and I'm staring
at an open jar of peanut butter
and eating rabbit food
though the chewing makes my teeth hurt
because it's what I want.
Isn't that what you want, to get me off?
And I'm sure you don't even know that song
And I'm sure you don't know I love it
And I'm sure you can't guess why,
because probably I couldn't even tell you.
And it's becoming more obvious
that every time I'm dissatisfied
it's my own fault.
And it's becoming more obvious
that every time I'm dissatisfied
it's because I don't trust you.
I reach a hurdle in our relationship
and it doesn't occur to me to jump it.
It doesn't occur to me that I ought to
leap into your arms with great abandon
that perhaps I wouldn't hurt myself
if I didn't hesitate.
And I don't suppose I ever told you
that I had 'Piano Man' stuck in my head
all through Kansas,
that I love that song as well.
And I don't suppose you're aware
of my favourite book,
or why it is that.
You don't know any of these things,
because I never mention them
in the times we're together.
What do I talk about, I wonder?
I cannot remember the words.
That I enjoy power
because I give you the power
when I give you an inch of my trust.
My favourite salad dressing
is blue cheese; the thick kind.
I like tapioca pudding
and posole; the spicy kind.
I wish I could play the memories for you
so you could understand me.
One in the morning
one of four on the dance floor
rocking to Donna Summer's "Last Dance"
because I know it will be
for tonight, anyway.
Last year, heating up the dance floor
at that party I wasn't originally invited to,
causing a distraction
sliding across the floor
and generally having a time of it.
It's why I love music
and tight clothes:
the attention that I get.
It's easier to tell the truth to strangers.
It's easier to be myself with strangers.
I can't tell you about the girl
I wish I could be
who flirts with girls
and teases men
and lives it up because she loves it.
(Because I love it.)
There are things I just can't say
because I don't know the words
because I can't get them out
because when it comes down to it
I'm still nine years old
shy and scared
blowing out the candles of my birthday cake
and wishing for happiness.
I've learned to act since then.
I've learned to lie since then.
Everything before then was a base coat.
Everything after that was confusion.
And it's only just now that I'm figuring it out.
That I'm still that girl
shy and scared
with the more confident best friend
and the artsy best friend
and the tomboy best friend
and I was the smart one,
the know-it-all
the teacher's pet
who didn't fit in.
So these days I wear corsets in public
and write poems and draw
and revel in my biceps
but I'm still that girl at heart,
shy and scared.
So you're wondering if I'm bored with this,
you're wondering why I'm vacillating
how I can feel like this and that at the same time.
I'm wondering if I'm crap at this,
this girlfriend thing,
if I'll die alone, or with a cat or two,
if I'll ever get the right words out
when it matters.
Because I can write down my emotions all day.
Because I can work it out, find exactly
the sentence that I want to use
with the words all put in order.
Because at my computer I can relax
eat a chocolate pudding
and admit my feelings
in my own due time.
When I'm with you
my heart pounds
my mouth gets dry
my stomach swirls
and my brain goes fuzzy.
I know the words,
they're all there in my encyclopedia
but my sweaty fingers
can't find the page.
So I could say "I'm feeling a little bit off right now,
like there's something we should talk about,
like there's something I need to say"
but it proves much too difficult
so I pull out the polite smile
and life moves on
and I sigh with relief
though there's no solution found.