Late Night Drive

Late night drive to my old house. The place I grew up. It makes me feel weaker. Everything seemed a little easier then, and smaller. They've put lace curtains up in my room. It doesn't suit it. The cherry tree is ripe. The familiar pulpy mess is scattered everywhere. I wonder if the raspberry and blackberry bushes are still in the back. I know they have cut the old oak down. I always go here when I don't feel right. It settles me, reminds me how far I've come.

'I wrote my name in your book,

only god knows why,

and I bet you that he cracked a smile,

and I'm clearing all the stuff out of my room,

trying desperately to figure out what it is that makes me blue,

and I wrote an epic letter to you,

but it's 22 pages front and back and it's too good to be used

and I tried to be a girl who likes to be used

I'm too good for that.

There's a mind under this hat,

and I called them all and told them i've got to move'