Wednesday, June 11, 2008

They snatched and grabbed and never let go

My best friend
I was
in eight grade I drew a
picture of her

This is the end of one
but the next is coming in just a few hours
Portland's calling, Julia's waiting
I'll be just as lonely there, but sure as hell less alone

"There's nothing beautiful about punk"
and "I'm so glad you don't chop your hair off like that"

We eat too much
and buy too much
You don't know how to ride a bike
and mine's broken by the front door
Even here, there are broken smiles
Even here, there's drama
Oh mama, how will you like me now, mama?

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