She sleeps through the day,
spends her nights awake,
and complains that her sheets are cold.
She'd never tell,
but she hates to sleep alone.

I'd love to tell you what you're dying to hear.
The symphony is silent.
I'd love to be your liar,
I'm nothing but a poet.
I finally feel. I finally feel. I finally feel.
I finally feel safe.

She wants to feel beautiful and important.
Like the freckle on her little toe
that she thought no one noticed.

I did.