Dolls and Soldiers

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, you know. I'm just a girl. Hard work is an optional reality. That's what they tell me. But I see 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 to obstruct the path. Maybe I just love climbing things. Easy is boring, I know you can see that. So here we are, with the aftertaste of something we can BOTH understand. The question is, can you see me holding all the things I've kept hidden in my open hand? Can I trace the shape of those realities that corrupt the half of you that's different? Can you deal with me being a criminal too? See, it's gotten me, and they've gotten you. But if it's what you want, and it's what I need, then I'll look for you somewhere in the middle. where you and I are ALMOST the same.