First time round it's barely legal me
And all those burdens of growing up
Finding comfort, a straw to hang on
And not quite understanding why so.
In the background noise, the third panel,
Every now and then I spot a glimpse of you.
You never look the same, but you are you,
And I decide that I don't want to fall for you.
I don't want to know your name,
Though it's right there before me this one time.
I don't want to see you with your eyes open,
Though I'm melting in pockets, but also in the heart.
And then somebody grabs my inarticulate left hand,
And throws me on a pile I discard all from, but you.
There appears to be nothing left but you.
OK, then, you, it is.
It's all me, but I thought it was you.
It's me trying to find my place,
But I thought it was you.
It gets a bit too carnal in my head,
Because people tell me that there's nothing else,
And that I cannot possibly see anything,
Other than a combination of some damned desire
And that "please make me feel special" kinda thing.
It gets a bit too logical in my heart,
Because not all of us are born street-smart,
And this is nothing but a street full of thugs,
A swarm of bees heading straight for me.
It gets a bit too crowded in my gut.
I need to become them in order not to be killed by them,
Otherwise they will never let me breathe in peace of me,
For my ways are wrong and I am so strange, plus a girl.
I see your eyes and they put stickers of their eyes over them,
I never trusted myself, so they win me wherever I'm broken.
They win me through,
And thereby I betray you.
And then I get angry with you.
And then I say no more you.
But I stick around as a malcontent,
A malcontent who puts a mask of a kind heart,
A malcontent who walks around with a blindfold,
Like that time I could not see your eyes open,
Like that time I hid my happy eyes from you,
And then got petrified with my eyes glued to you.
I become a bully to me and I become a bully to you.
I turn on the sticky keys.
I TURN ON THE CAPS LOCK
AND THEN I YELL AT YOU
I YELL AT YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN
I YELL AT YOU TO MAKE SENSE OF ME
AND YOU DO, BUT I AM NOT READY YET
BUT THEY THINK KEYS ARE STICKY
FOR A REASON THAT IS TOTALLY NOT ME
I turn off the sticky keys.
I turn off the caps lock,
And then I see you yell at me.
You yell at me silently in my mind,
Because I am being so wrong but all
I can get out of it is that you are wrong.
And then it all changes when I remember her.
She recognises me and grabs me by both hands,
With whatever she has for hands, I don't know,
And says "Come to me, let the blue kick the blues",
And she knows what second time round means.
She knows a story, or two about broken things,
She no longer has salt, so she can heal wounds.
A couple of days later, it's you, all over again, it's you,
I bounce you from coast to coast like they bounced her.
Some call it a nonsensical pledge,
Some call it a feeling of guilt,
Some call it second time round,
Some call it the Supermoon,
I call it you.
Some say you won't compromise,
Some say you are so, so pathetic,
Some say you are stupid for your age,
I say you are nothing...but you.
Call it a pledge,
Call it devotion,
Call it nonsense,
Call it pathology,
I call it you.
Second time round, I don't call it me -
I call it you.
Second time round, I don't see you in me -
I see me in you.
I'll see you when you see me -
Until then it's you.
The second to last verse is not meant to sound perverted, despite the "carnal" verses earlier in the poem.
The performer in this poem: Me
The non-performer in this poem: The one over there
Special guest in this poem: She
The choir in this poem: Mental space invaders and their friends
Production: Ne (Extroverted Intuition to your mother!)
Anything else: Ummm, happy birthday, Mickey Mouse? Yoo-hoo?!