|
v u l v a l i c i o u s Questioning her, wondering where I am going, what promises I've yet to break to myself Well she was an American girl,raised on promises. She couldn't help thinkin that there was a little more to life somewhere else. After all it was a great big world with lots of places to run to. Yeah, and if she had to die tryin', she had one little promise she was gonna keep. Oh yeah, all right, take it easy baby, make it last all night. She was an American girl. Sometimes I feel like the world can't hold me, like I'm running somewhere I haven't seen, haven't been to, don't know; that there are things at my edges starting to rip, seams busting open, voices spilling out like bright colored candies on a black and white checkerboard floor. I've promised myself that I'll open my Self up, that I'll let more people in, or let them inside in different ways. Somehow, I doubt it's one more promise I'm going to keep. It's not that I don't let them in, that I keep my heart beating under wool jackets and extra padding. It's just that I have my limits, that my heart is tucked away like some little secret I've just learned how to keep, and it only gets exposed to the best and brightest, should they ever turn out to exist. Because is that the problem? Am I holding out for something or someone that cannot possibly exist? Do I want too much? Is that even possible? I know my cunt is worth waiting for, but really, what is she waiting for? What am I waiting for? How do I go from smiling at her from one side of the room to kissing her in a corner, everything on the line, pinned to the wall, helpless and happy? How do I get there? Have I read the instructions and forgotten them? And who is she, anyway, that mysterious, ambiguous she that haunts barstools and bathrooms and nearly deserted restaurants reading a tattered copy of Three Guineas while listening to grrl punk on her headphones? Who is she, and why am I waiting for her? Where is she, and is she waiting too? Why do I have all the questions and none of the answers? |