I know nothing of war,
it doesn't reside with me.
I just know there's a knock on the door,
a pull on the arm, a sense of rightness,
or something like that,
which some answer to.
That, I can see.
But I don't have to.
I don't need to, you know.
I'm just a girl. Hard work
is an optional reality (with no ticking clocks).
That's what they tell me.
But I'll tell you what I see.
It's something like a forked path..
On the left, roses scattered,
scent sweet, air mostly clear
with a few rare storms that quickly pass.
And on the right,
only fog. Gray and thick.
A jungle in the clouds.
My battle is this, you see,
I crave adventure too.
So I make wars with myself,
I plant the weeds.
I obstruct the path,
so I can learn to climb when it's needed.
Or maybe I just love climbing things.
(I could never reprimand you for that,
if you'd let me do it too, without questions)
Easy is boring, I know you can see that.
So here we are, with the aftertaste of something
we can BOTH understand.
(that never meant to taste sweet)
The question is, can you see me
holding all the things I've kept hidden
in my open hand?
A virginity not taken, but given?
And can I see the shape of those realities
that corrupt the half of you that's different?
(Whether or not you wanted it?)
Can you deal with me being a criminal too?
See, it's gotten me,
and they've gotten you.
That battle has already ended.
But if it's what you want,
and it's what I need,
then I'll look for you somewhere in the middle.
That lonely island far in the distance,
where you and I are ALMOST the same.