In the city of dirt and angel dances
the table’s filled with leather and pen bleed
he taught me to read, how to
be timid and yet speak
I'm lost and traveling over little seas.
Oh, to be lost again,
I can’t forget the number nineteen 

it’s us and midwestern poppy fields
and also a lucky day to be February
he says he loves it, Mom, I’m a figured out teen;
more green grass and green sleeves
turbulence and the terrible two-monthers
living selfishly because my mother,
she was my first optimist and saw the best
would hold heads and Aaliyah sing for me. 

I guess it’s all true with my eyes on fire,
and I guess I’m back and it’s all the same again
have I ever felt so far from who I am
who I really am. Sometimes
sometimes I wake at 4 , sometimes
I sleep at 4. Sometimes I stop in for hi’s
sometimes I’m more into hola and hello. 

I’m far above, I’m looking out
for my somewhat fragile heart
for chances for fun
for a little lust and small joy. 

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