I still hide in my room sometimes, the way I did it 12,
scared to come out, to hear the bickering of the real world, to be face to face
with people who may not like me
At 12, girls still scared me, maybe because I did not want
to admit what I wanted from them, maybe just another lie like the one I told
earlier this year when I claimed I could take the High Road, when I knew from
the start I could not, and you all dressed up as if on a date, a vision I see
when I close my eyes, the devil in the black rather than red, as I ponder what
color lipstick you might wear on this day or that, and whether you chose to polish
your nails, and what exactly goes on behind those dark eyes of yours, what
exactly do you want from me, at this moment or that, though now after the wind
has cast you adrift like another fall leaf, none of that matters, and once
again I hide in my room, feeling as ready as I did at 12, yet without any way
to do anything about it, scared not of all girls these days, just scared of you
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