We have choices, choices, choices
to be made with difference voices.
And sometimes you speak too loud
because you’re feeling way too proud.
Other times you sit by, mute
your own horn afraid to toot.
It’s hard to tell when to take stand
or when to simply wave your hand.
You want to speak up for yourself
but may only hurt yourself.
It’s hard to learn to love yourself
if you never get off the shelf.
I’m tired of the game
and trying to explain
just how you hurt me.
With all of your words
I’m split into thirds
thinking what are we?
Your power you flaunt;
don’t know what you want.
You keep changing your key.
You’re back and you’re forth
What is my worth?
Baby, what are we?
You’re up and You’re down
I’m flipped around;
a ship lost at sea.
You’re always my choice
but I’m losing my voice.
What about me?
Decide our plot.
Want this or not?
What are we?
Sometimes all I can do
is share just the tip of the iceberg
of what makes me depressed.
It’s usually som superficial reason,
But I can’t find the words to share
about the tons of heavy ice
beneath the surface
that actually make me want to die.
So no one really understands
what the things weighing me down are.
They just see the silly, stupid things
that set me off on a plunge
and think I’m not worthy of help
because why would sleeping in
be enough reason to kill yourself?
Nobody cares about that.
So no one hears about all the things that came after
like the dreams
or the self-destructive thoughts
or bringing my worth down.
Or feeling like a failure.
Because why would anyone
understand that all these things
are just a result of sleeping late.
Sometimes the harsh crunch
of leaves beneath your feet
can make you realize
just how fragile life is.
Something once full of life
and service to give
now falls from the top
and withers away to nothing.
the mountain air is quite crisp
and the smell of maples and pine
fills their lungs with something brand new.
At 2066 high
where the land meets the bright blue sky
and birds dare to spread wings and soar,
where they can see everything.
At 2066 feet
two young hearts begin to beat,
for perhaps the very first time,
together as love starts to grow.
Up at 2066,
above the crunching of dry sticks,
you can hear two souls come to see
without each other, they can’t be.
I am suffocating in your guilt.
I didn’t get you into this mess.
I didn’t cause this to happen,
but yet I’m stuck dealing
with your consequences.
It’s not my job to be your pity party.
It’s not my job to make you feel better.
It’s not my job to make you less lonely.
Stop making it sound like it is.
I have a real job
with actual responsibilities.
I don’t have the time
or energy really to
deal with your constant guilt trips.
I’ll tell you what I tell the kids:
I don’t do tears,
Man up and get your shit together.
Stop suffocating me with YOUR problems.
I have enough of my own.
Sometimes I wish I were a pumpkin
because when looking for a pumpkin,
the bigger and rounder the better.
Maybe then someone would want me.