In boxes on the highest shelves
I stood on a chair with wheels
Making little jumps, hands
Reached out to pull you down
And those boxes,
I tore violently at the edges
Ripping up perfectly taped seals
I never thought I would break
Again
Sixteenth birthday party
Turning, turning, turning
In my mind
I wanted nothing more than to listen to
your specific sequence of songs
To read that handwritten label
Listing a carefully planned process
That someone (I) went through to make you
To make you so awesome
And as I quickly cut the tape
Flung the cardboard flaps open,
I figuratively crossed my fingers that you
Would be there Waiting for me--
Songs of so called friends-
First cigarette behind 7-11
Stoners looking through dirty magazines
while they are assured me
That smoking is cool
Songs of first loves-
Snow on the balcony
When he kissed me,
With a salivating tongue
And a gentle hand in my hair
Songs from akward dances-
Fairly certainly feeling boners
On my upper thigh as I danced with guys
,blushing at the thought of
What we would all look like naked
Musical metaphor and melodic angst,
when I find you, I will finally be able
To let go,
Let everything go.
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