Butterscotch cream, I want to scream
tell the world how I feel
shout out hot my heart is beating
and I’m real, realler than anyone
because I know. I know love.
I cannot tell you how the sky was made,
how life became and what happens when we die.
I’ll never know that and I soon feared I would never know anything.
But know I know I can know something.
Why does this something have to be this?
Nothing is wrong with it, but me, I have enough differences
and now I just have to deal with another
another color upon my face,
another speck of glitter shimmering on my chest.
Some won’t notice it, but others with torture me with the fact.
I shouldn’t be worried about what others think, but I am.
I’m a teenage girl growing up in a world were sex is bad one second,
but good the next.
It’s ackward: I’m confused and sometimes I just want to stop.
I can’t stop now.
Not when I’m on the verge of this breakthrough,
of finding one truth.
Until the day my lips shall find their way unto
another set of X chromosomes I must only dream.
And during the day when the sun is high I shall act as if the sparkle was not their,
but in reality I will scream.
I will scream so loud it will echo across the mountian tops
and find its way to another’s heart.
Or maybe back to mine.
On that day my screaming will no longer be silent.
I will dance with pride and everything will suddenly fall into place
and the world won’t miss a beat.
Unfortunatly the day has not come and I am weeping with defeat.
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