look at you wearin my hat.
bet you don't know what else i got
when i got that.
so hip, so direct
you must be fashionably correct
to have a hat quite like it mister man
so keep smiling, keep on smiling
and you, with your blank stare
as though we've got no space to share
you look bewildered, i see it wildly
i'm afraid you look really scared
and innocent, yet snotty
as though your persiana has you shaded
from the rest of the bright light world.
baby girl you're like porcelain,
preciously fragile
so weak inside slivers of thought
inside your brain
lately i've noticed
these little discrepancies
subtly hostile, non-urgent adversaries
in people i know
who can boast with their own tongue
but won't dare try on someone else's...
unless it makes them look good,
makes 'em look real good.
unless they can wear it like an accessory
for time well-spent,
(even if it's just a fragment of a second)
a chispa.
a moment to fill you up then suck you dry
then makes you wonder why you became such a novelty,
a fucking trophy.
to stand out while others stand back,
can't look you in the eye and see
that we both have two eyes,
and we both have lives.
just some are colored differently
but i've realized a little discretion
goes a long way with discrepancies,
like i'm in on the secret they never shared
because they haven't yet received it.
i'm gonna boast with my own tongue
that flickers in my mind
just how boring i think they really are.
boring, and cocky.
seemingly satisfied in their cozy nest,
their circle of friends in their sunday best
wearin MY hat. oh god, if only he knew
what else i got with that...
it might displease or it might haunt you forever.
however, a little discretion on my part,
a persiana, protection from the bright light.
as precious as the womb when reality is questioned
tightly tucked in,
my secret, my shelter.
your bite-sized world
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