grains of salt on hardwood floors smelling of orange oil to keep their shine buy they aren't mine i just rent them to produce my melody my rhythm my flow to you as the grains stick to the bottom of my feet how generous of you to dust them off but you don't you can't see me skipping beats or hear them missing in my words just part of the conversation just part of the dance i don't like this dance i've been dancing for so long only know how to shimmy and shake you aren't a shimmy or a shake
i love sitting across from you over sunday night drinks. discussing openly and honestly your frustration with girls and how you see us. complaining that we never go for the good guys, even when we say that is what we want. all the while i stare at you and laugh knowing that i like a good guy and yet he is oblivious, most likely just not interested, and tells me i do not want a good guy when i want him. the problem is not the good guy or his lack to act but my lack. i am not that good of a girl. how can i possibly deserve a good guy like you? so i'll just laugh at your jokes and feel my stomach flutter at your hugs but stay silent because you are a good guy who is not interested and i'm a girl trying to be good and trying to deserve a good guy...trying to appeal to you.