(no subject)

[worldinaglass]

when i'm really happy, why do i love to hear
all the kids with their swishy hair
and sad songs and blue notes
why do i think of being in wars with my father
and grandfather?
why do you make me think of the love of a mother
and trading furs with indians
and bits of glass
and vaccines
and god.
i need no excuse,
i've got plenty of room
and you've got me.