Sweatshirt (11.27.17)

This piece is important to include, as I feel it acknowledges that no piece will ever be perfect. It is alright for a piece to not be all the way satisfactory. This piece is not finished, it is raw. As an artist and a writer, it is ok to write things you are not satisfied with- it gives it room to improve.

I haven’t seen you since the night you left.

You didn’t tell me where you went

You left me just to guess

I lie down on the hard cement

And think of that bright yellow dress.

Something about the middle of the street

In its street-lit glory

Made you twirl me, what a treat!

Your eyes were closed and still know where I am.

Something about your lips so sweet

In that plastic playhouse

Surrounded by a fleet of helicopter leaves

Made me smile so big that I couldn’t keep

My eyes closed and still be okay

Dearie I don’t want to say what’s wrong

All I want is to keep moving on

Dearie I don’t want to show you what hurts

I just want to bury my face in your worn-out sweatshirt.

It was

Something about those ice cold feet

That burned my skin

That sent me right out of my seat

Made me blink my eyes and then just leave

Our eyes were open and that’s all it needs to turn the night to day.

Your sweatshirt’s the only thing that’s left

out of this grand old time theft

Dearie I don’t want to talk about what hurts

I just want to bury my face in your worn-out sweatshirt.