Moving the pieces of my life around, I find the dust under my bed
The letters I never sent, the shirts I never wore, the pillow case that held me like you never did
I pick up each piece and hold it over my body
I wrap the scarf around my neck and put the big plastic pink diamond ring on my finger
I put the butterfly clips in my hair and the heels on my feet
I wear every piece of me
New, old, broken, ripped, and new
And soon, more pieces will end up under my bed
This time, the report card, the failed test, and the unfinished review packet for a class I can't focus in anymore
Long gone are the tutus and the fairy dust and the dress I stole from my mom's closet because I thought it made me look older
The purple on my walls fades, and the light turns from sunny yellow to blinding fluorescent white as my window shrinks
The Barbies in the corner and the princess costumes turn into textbooks and notebooks and endless pages of math problems, wrong time and time again
Until the dust under my bed turns into every little piece of me
Every hair strand, eyelash, and sliver of skin
Every nail I ripped out trying to understand why I had to spend my best years hunched over an IXL activity, as my laugh sounded like no more than a faded echo bouncing off my grey walls
The tears stain the floor, and the fairytale books on my nightstand are traded for research papers
Everything is moved to the basement to collect dust, and my play kitchen is replaced with a desk for studying.
Soon they're all sold at a garage sale in the hot summer, where I can't bear to look at the pieces of me anymore
Covered in cobwebs, chipped and damaged
A garage sale where everything sells for under 5$
The tiara that was missing a peak, and the satin gloves that I refused to take off
The grey cat plushy that I took everywhere
And the basement is now empty, and the pieces are gone
Soon, there's no more dust under my bed since I move it around so often, hoping to find a corner where some little piece remains so I can fall asleep
One line of yellow sun to wake me up with its warmth
All the particles of dust are scattered to the wind, removed by the Lysol cleaning wipes and the Fabuloso
Bring them back
Buy them back with the same tattered $5 bill
And put me back together
Every Cinderella puzzle piece, magic wand, and cupcake-flavored chapstick
Save every piece
And put me back to bed again like the days when I would fall asleep on the couch after Monopoly
Make me whole again.
The letters I never sent, the shirts I never wore, the pillow case that held me like you never did
I pick up each piece and hold it over my body
I wrap the scarf around my neck and put the big plastic pink diamond ring on my finger
I put the butterfly clips in my hair and the heels on my feet
I wear every piece of me
New, old, broken, ripped, and new
And soon, more pieces will end up under my bed
This time, the report card, the failed test, and the unfinished review packet for a class I can't focus in anymore
Long gone are the tutus and the fairy dust and the dress I stole from my mom's closet because I thought it made me look older
The purple on my walls fades, and the light turns from sunny yellow to blinding fluorescent white as my window shrinks
The Barbies in the corner and the princess costumes turn into textbooks and notebooks and endless pages of math problems, wrong time and time again
Until the dust under my bed turns into every little piece of me
Every hair strand, eyelash, and sliver of skin
Every nail I ripped out trying to understand why I had to spend my best years hunched over an IXL activity, as my laugh sounded like no more than a faded echo bouncing off my grey walls
The tears stain the floor, and the fairytale books on my nightstand are traded for research papers
Everything is moved to the basement to collect dust, and my play kitchen is replaced with a desk for studying.
Soon they're all sold at a garage sale in the hot summer, where I can't bear to look at the pieces of me anymore
Covered in cobwebs, chipped and damaged
A garage sale where everything sells for under 5$
The tiara that was missing a peak, and the satin gloves that I refused to take off
The grey cat plushy that I took everywhere
And the basement is now empty, and the pieces are gone
Soon, there's no more dust under my bed since I move it around so often, hoping to find a corner where some little piece remains so I can fall asleep
One line of yellow sun to wake me up with its warmth
All the particles of dust are scattered to the wind, removed by the Lysol cleaning wipes and the Fabuloso
Bring them back
Buy them back with the same tattered $5 bill
And put me back together
Every Cinderella puzzle piece, magic wand, and cupcake-flavored chapstick
Save every piece
And put me back to bed again like the days when I would fall asleep on the couch after Monopoly
Make me whole again.
