They all tell me wonderful things.

You're too beautiful.
You're too intimidating.
You're too smart.
You're too good for them.

It's not that I don't believe them,
   it's just that:

I'm too ******* lonely.

You all complain.
But as my days in this house are numbered,
as the oaks begin to catch sunlight as if it were just for me,
I see now, more than ever before, that this is the most beautiful place.

I know by now you must be bored, but you don't see what I see.
I see the green and the green and the green again.
That bright green that only the god I half-heatedly believe in could have created.

I feel the sun that I've longed for in the rain that we so desperately need.
It's here now. It's here to tempt my inevitable return once I leave.
It's these trees I want. These oaks are the only ones that can please me.

I hear the crow of my boy, he's challenging me.
But I don't have the heart to tell him that our days are numbered.
My days in this house are numbered. And it's killing me.

I love this Valley. It's the only place I need.
It's here to tempt my inevitable return once I leave.

I see who you say you are, and I hear of the things you do.
I am above it, and my self-awareness never clouds my view.
But your outer shell is so innocent, like a gentle morning dew.
The girls begin to salivate when they speak of "you know who."

What was the meaning behind that message? God I wish I knew.
You should have made your intentions clear before you bid me adieu.
Your then brief words now stick to me, like a sickly residue.
You're a dangerous one who could devour me and I'd prefer a safer brew.

I'd like to think you could change- but we both know this isn't true.
So I'll just think of that dream and that oh-so soft, sweet taboo.
I don't know who you write about or what she does for you,
but I'll never admit that I'm the one who I want you to pursue.

I wish you'd stay and keep me company
where do you go?

I think I want you to come closer
but I'm the only one who's allowed to devour.

I could say that I want your hands all over me
but you smell like cigarettes.

I live for the wink, the recognition
but I can't believe it's real.

This isn't love or infatuation.
I'm simply lonely.
And I need someone to test my resolve.

There are so many. So many boys.

I like to hear the smart ones.
Who can cut a pi in half and use proper diction.
That's ****.

I like to see the handsome ones.
Who have impeccable shoulder blades and those sultry eyes.
That's ****.

I like to talk to the funny ones.
Who are fountains of wit yet still laugh at my jokes.
That's ****

They all like to see, hear, and talk to me.
They just don't know it yet.
I'm ****.

There are so many. So many boys.

I don't think you understand your actions.
No one has ever told me they loved me to my face.
Not like that.
Not someone like you.

And the worst part is: I can't even enjoy it.
That's not the love I wanted.
I can get that at home.

No, I don't want her to come with us.
Yes, I feel guilty about you buying me things.
No, I don't want you to drive me home;
It's a half hour in the other direction.  

There is nothing I can dislike about you.
And that makes it so much worse.

You're a part of the culture.
A culture of oppression, and profiles.

You're lost because you know this,
and you're one of the exiles.

But you are wrong.
I tell you, yet you remain in denial.

Only you can save you,
from becoming a hopeless juvenile.