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I’m always looking for something
in a relationship that mends
the broken by the hands of a father,
but I always leave at midnight
just so I don’t see him acting up.
I’m always looking for someone
who love me like my father did
but men were once boys.
They’ll leave you like he left me.
But I’m not Rita Hayworth,
I don’t pick up a guitar
and sing out what I’m feeling.
I pick up a pen and write bars
over bars about what I have
trapped inside of me.
I had family members tell me
I don’t fit in anymore
when I was born there.
Maybe I’m foreigner,
I speak many different languages
than just my native tongue.
I don’t stick around waiting
because I don’t need a man
to tell me what I can or can’t be.
I feel like I’m losing around
people who once knew me.
I’m not looking for something perfect.
I just want to be in love
with things like I used to.
I used to play the piano
when I was younger.
I had to stop playing
because I wasn’t happy
playing the same old tune.
But when I see him there,
I could see someone who won’t leave.
And I know I could see myself cry
if he has to go away because of his job,
I might have to stop myself
like I’ve always done in the past.
I don’t want to have to keep on looking
for something that I found in him.
“I belong with him and not to him.”
I argue more than I should have.
I don’t know if that’s just a woman
being hormonal but I never felt
so entitled to say that I have morals.
I have a songbook of memories
just waiting to be sung to a crowd.
If I don’t say “I love you”
as often as I should have,
that’s only because I know
that he knows I love him
more than I believe in fairytales.
Maybe I’ve known Cinderella
longer than I’ve known myself.
I should know who I’m supposed to be
but I feel trapped when I’m without him.
I could love him longer than I want him.
He never said anything bad about
his blonde ex-girlfriend
and her current lover.
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut
but I’d rather jump over hurdles
and go through something I’ve been
broken about. But I know, I got him
since we first met all those years ago.
“Am I just playing myself?”
“Should I keep on writing down
how I’m feeling about the things
I’ve felt for a long time?”
He could argue with me
but at the end of the day,
who’ll be the woman to stay?