Tell me again how strong I am.
The chameleon doing what it does best. Adaptation at your command.
Milk spilling and spoiling on the floor so what's the use in crying?
It's over, its done. All there's left to do is press send.
Be careful what you wish for cuz you might end up on Crystal Rock with the girl, the burdens, the cat and a one way ticket to life inside the airport. Always leaving with no destination.
Love...let me count the ways I can throw myself against a wall to remember how to leave when they've handed me my hat. And my hat is most certainly in my hand.
But then reflection is deflected and rejection is the objection that I don't want to rule guilty for. And I am guilty.
Guilty of 2000 thread count the bed was made with.
It's over. It's done.
But what price do we pay? Who's head is it on? Because I feel as though I can't afford the reward to get it back.
Who is responsible? Who will stand up in front of the class and recite the declaration?
Tell me again how strong I am. Tell me again how everything happens for a reason and I'll take off this mask and accept the obligation.
Tiffani Frost Powell
Copyright June 2004
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