He believes I have fallen from heaven
I still have the halo upon my head.
You think I’d take the entire world
And make it all dead.
He thinks I’ve hung the moon
In a perfect balance of nature.
You think I’d rip it apart
And call it ‘my little adventure.’
He thinks I could sing from the roof
And everyone would hear.
You think my voice travels through wind
And wish it would disappear.
He thinks I write the perfect form
For my heart and soul collide.
You think it’s all straight from hell
That Satan and I have allied.
I grow tired of being the ‘good girl’
Yet never quite good enough for you.
Like Cinderella that went to the ball
Yet never could fit the shoe.
I grow tired of being the ‘bad girl’
Yet not quite bad enough, really.
I’d like to be half the woman
You think of, ideally.
Somewhere between both of you
I stand perfectly balanced in between.
Not quite good, not quite bad..
Never heard, never seen.