I can't even stand to look
Worried, but I try to love you
Like snowglobes bought but never shook
Proof that I spent the night somewhere
Somewhere vaguely nice
It'd be where I choose to move myself
Apart from all the ice
So it sits with bones and rocks and perfume
At home on my shelf
Only taken out just to indulge you
Never for myself
And the trinkets would all pile up
As I keep shrinking down
I push my reason to my throat
And make a different sound
And when I go to sleep somewhere
The trinkets take my place
They're gorgeous to admire
But I can't give up my space
And I have to try to love them
But love isn't just like stuff
It's a deluded metaphor
That doesn't mean that much
But I think it's fair to say
That it's all clutter at its core
Something to fill up space and time
With no function, just a form
And maybe I'm just broken
Or too young to understand
The whole purpose of love
Not shaking snowglobes, buying land
And maybe my ambition is a pitiful display
Of talent turned to skill turned into ten-year summer break
And maybe by the end of this
I'll just do the right thing
Go to a good college
And forget that I can sing
But I don't know myself as well as everyone I know
They all give me names and gifts and words and tell me where to go
My attempts to orient myself are laughable at best
I still need mnemonic trickery for North, South, East, and West
And it's hard to stomach anything
When you've got guts of straw
It's hard to stand up for yourself
When you're not very tall
It's terrifying to imagine
One day waking up
Realizing I'm stranded
Realizing I'm stuck