I want to melt behind the shimmery curtains
that keep me from falling into the pit of sheer
and plain conformity.
I’d never move, I’d puddle and dissipate.
Sounds good to me.
I fucking hate small talk.
Even when the weather is interesting,
I’d rather talk about the worlds
that exist in each ball of ice
than be asked, “Did you see the hail storm? Were you caught in it?”
Or I’d rather you not speak to me at all.
If you want to insult that girl that sits beside me,
let me stop you now.
Or at least let me tell you,
I won’t bond that way.
And you can’t make me.
I refuse to fall into that.
I’d rather have no “friends” at all.
So, sit me in your EasyBake oven,
till all the wax in my soul melts down
to that puddle.
Don’t think that you forced me there.
I could be a mean girl if I wanted to.
We all have the potential.
I am choosing love.
Which also means I can’t hate you for your foolishness.
And I hope some day you figure out that
you don’t have make people think you’re
better than everyone else to be loved.