I'm trying so hard,
picking up the peices of me
up off the floor,
putting them back together,
into an imperfect,
imbalanced,
teenage girl,
holding myself together.
But nothing to stick her
back together with,
but love and memories,
and your dumb jokes,
that never made me laugh-
like the one about duct tape
and the force-
both have a light side
and a dark side,
and old the world together.
Got nothing to prop her up on,
but summer nights and tears,
and your stupid cliches
about boys things like,
Chuct Norris,
and how he holds duct tape together,
now its holding her together.
My work isnt perfect,
its messy and lopsided;
its hormonily inbalenced,
but Ive had enough of you,
and enough of duct tape.
But its holding her together.
