I fly over Nova Scotia, I swim the ocean blue.
I land in New Orleans and eat Poe Boy or two.
I am not the person people expect me to be.
I'm not warm, I'm not over and I am not in between.
I'm living in my car now, I sold all my stuff.
Not because I needed money, because I had too much.
I'm writing this in a notebook, that no one will ever read.
So why am I still pretending I'm who they'd think I'd be?
I am in between the margins, these words are just me clothes.
That I wear to cover up, what I want no one to know.
Jungle Green, Magenta, and Underwater Blue.
I love every single color, Teardrops + Balloons
