But I hid my gasp with pursed lips and inquisitive eyes in an amateur attempt to appear curious or maybe attractive
In any case at least I found distraction with the slow coo of
-iiiiiiiiiice cold waterONE DOLLA iiiiiiiiice cold water-
And the slow beat of hip hop from the traffic
Blocking out the mumble of words underneath
And the slow beat of hip hop from the traffic
Blocking out the mumble of words underneath
And the comforting thought
That I could wear a short denim jumper and deep red lipstick
And I wouldn't be the strangest one on the bus,
Not that I particularly care for deep red lipstick.
Still crossing, and my left hand jumped to my chest
At the sight of the symbolic statue
That I could wear a short denim jumper and deep red lipstick
And I wouldn't be the strangest one on the bus,
Not that I particularly care for deep red lipstick.
Still crossing, and my left hand jumped to my chest
At the sight of the symbolic statue
I climbed with Indian Princesses in the third grade
And my grandparents saw once,
And maybe they cried in public when they did,
But probably not.
And my grandparents saw once,
And maybe they cried in public when they did,
But probably not.
How strong they were.
And I felt like a cliche, but cliches do come from somewhere, you know,
And just on this bridge everyone looks so different,
And despite my ennuyence with a public kiss, it's nice to know you can.
Mostly, though, the subtle locks on the bridge with two names, just two, ring true.
Maybe one day
But my heart was still lightly floating because I went to a bustling flea market
With people with light brown boots and thick rimmed glasses
In an old bank in Williamsburg,
And I now wear a potentially tacky, glittery headband with a large flower
And earrings with trees inside
And there's a beaded Mexican shirt in my bag that may have sweat stains
But I prefer to think of it as decorative,
Like the paper I used to blot with tea bags at colonial camp.
(Yes: I went to colonial camp.)
Walking along, I felt a growing false sense of nostalgia
For a city I wish I knew better,
But felt quite warm from the thought that I could be accepted here
As an extra fan in a sweaty apartment building in the summer
Or an extra body on a subway packed with people trying to avoid (or maybe catch) eye contact
Or an occupier of the shade under a young but full tree in a tiny, unnamed park that takes up the empty triangle of space between two streets doomed to intersect
Or extra feet walking down the sidewalk with a sense of purpose, trying to think of the important things I had to do with such important and focused steps.
-icecoldwadaicecoldwadaicecold How you doin?-
There are happy things in this world,
And the half new/half old ones are quite a smile,
Even when they remind me of the things tar away,
(on the other half of this infinite dialectic, moving towards something hopefully better than mediocre),
Those things that make me cry on airplanes and in churches
(It's distracting to hide tears),
All a part of the never ending war of words, weapons, and maps.
Today, it will be enough to smile, though,
And rest my head on my sisters shoulder
As we ride home in a quivery car of metro north,
With challah between my feet
And I felt like a cliche, but cliches do come from somewhere, you know,
And just on this bridge everyone looks so different,
And despite my ennuyence with a public kiss, it's nice to know you can.
Mostly, though, the subtle locks on the bridge with two names, just two, ring true.
Maybe one day
But my heart was still lightly floating because I went to a bustling flea market
With people with light brown boots and thick rimmed glasses
In an old bank in Williamsburg,
And I now wear a potentially tacky, glittery headband with a large flower
And earrings with trees inside
And there's a beaded Mexican shirt in my bag that may have sweat stains
But I prefer to think of it as decorative,
Like the paper I used to blot with tea bags at colonial camp.
(Yes: I went to colonial camp.)
Walking along, I felt a growing false sense of nostalgia
For a city I wish I knew better,
But felt quite warm from the thought that I could be accepted here
As an extra fan in a sweaty apartment building in the summer
Or an extra body on a subway packed with people trying to avoid (or maybe catch) eye contact
Or an occupier of the shade under a young but full tree in a tiny, unnamed park that takes up the empty triangle of space between two streets doomed to intersect
Or extra feet walking down the sidewalk with a sense of purpose, trying to think of the important things I had to do with such important and focused steps.
-icecoldwadaicecoldwadaicecold How you doin?-
There are happy things in this world,
And the half new/half old ones are quite a smile,
Even when they remind me of the things tar away,
(on the other half of this infinite dialectic, moving towards something hopefully better than mediocre),
Those things that make me cry on airplanes and in churches
(It's distracting to hide tears),
All a part of the never ending war of words, weapons, and maps.
Today, it will be enough to smile, though,
And rest my head on my sisters shoulder
As we ride home in a quivery car of metro north,
With challah between my feet
(I almost cried when I saw it,
But instead I smiled,
And payed three times as much
For a much less fresh variety.)
DLS
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