|Just because I can't wear my hair pink anymore|
That piercing she had on the tip of her lip would be rusty by now,
withered and weary it faded out of her lips
but comes back, in a flash, all at once;
I blink and I see her hinting it’s from when she was 15,
because we’ve all been teens, her lips say.
And don’t do that to me, she’d say,
just because she couldn’t wear her hair pink anymore
just because she gave in to acting,
a smile with gritted teeth hiding what we believed in.
I wore us so willingly, so comfortable
without a knife in my back pocket, such a mink coat feeling,
she loved me and they loved us perfect pair of artists,
wouldn’t you say we had it all?
It’s a choice and we can’t afford them anyway,
and it’s not the only thing we ceased sharing,
except I hoarded and tried to keep it all,
biting those piercing-less lips to the sound of
my censored rock n’ roll, because it gives her headaches,
excuses that cannot excuse how much she left me,
it’s as easy as saying goodbye,
because you and I don’t fit here anymore;
the coat's heavy and shabby,
it's only that I keep wearing it.