And I don’t want someone who is going to push me away, I want someone who is going to pull me so close I can’t breathe.

No amount of gatorade is going to make these feelings go away.
No amount of gatorade is going to help me catch my breath…
Not like it used to.
Not really.

No one sees her pain, just the BMW keychain.
Money can’t buy happiness: she is (barely) living proof.
Maybe because we’re all moving so fast and her thoughts are racing even faster: slow it down.
Maybe because you can’t see tears in the rain: umbrella out.
Maybe it’s because we are all just broken pieces of glass trying to put each other back together but no one has any glue, just sharp edges: help me now.

I wonder what life is like for them…
for those people who can just say those five words without choking up.
Without turning red.
Without being terrified that someone will catch on but secretly hoping that someone will.

Her story is not over yet, nor has it really begun.
She has no pen in hand, a pencil is all she has ever known.
Carving lines and then trying to erase.
But just like during math class, it doesn’t all always go away.

Because she can only erase so many times until the page just rips.
She can’t start from scratch, she’s got the world at her finger tips.
For her hands are too heavy and her eyes are too full.
She’s seen far too much, she’s twenty-two years OLD.