Don't think, just write.
But what the hell am I writing for?
I'm not writing for all the times when you didn't answer the phone while I was home alone wishing you were here like postcards from places where waters are clear
Where daughters are queer.
I'm not writing for all the times when it was always Conveniently my turn to buy the contraception; don't feed me your deception,
Dammit, I'm not hungry right now!
I'm not writing for the curse words we spit through tainted phone lines you hone lines from the headquaters of bullshit, and I bit, I should split, But I can't
Because of nights we spent together under the stars, kissing in cars and sneaking in bars...
Coming home late to angry parental glares, while I'm sneaking up the stairs, and to my room, shrouded in gloom which brightens
When I see your face.
All the frown lines your bright smile can erase and I pace the floor hoping for just a bit more of you.
I made soup for you when you were sick... but you did not eat it.
I played songs for at night, but you did not hear them.
I fucking picked flowers for you,
And YOU DID NOT SMELL THEM!
That's what I'm writing for.
And I graffitied it on the sides of empty buildings and barren parking lots, spots covered my jeans as I doodled amongst the fiends.
Past the rolling trains it rains and pains me to know that even though you gave me smiles, showcased your wiles; I would not be in your wet dreams.
I would not be in your day dreams;
And I wonder what you may dream.
I scream.
You don't care.
And that is what I'm writing for.
Yech!!!That didn't come out right!
