I want a change.

I can’t be this person anymore.

I’ve tried all my life,

but I don’t know what for.

Am I broken?

I don’t know.

But I have so little and nothing to show

for the efforts I’ve taken to be good,

for the things that I’ve murdered by living life like I should.

I only have these lines for all of my worry

and pages and pages of living someone else’s story.

I want out of this life.

To be something more than someone’s wife.

I wish I was the one taking instead of giving,

owning my life and finally living.

I’d make up for lost time.

Instead of paying for old crimes,

I’d commit new ones

With no regrets and with much bigger guns.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s