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I'm sitting on my porch steps with the urge to cry-
waiting for the phone to ring, ready to die.
The stomach tosses and turns more than I'd like
because I feel for her problems, his problems
and now I feel mine.
He tells me that he misses me and he can't wait till break.
He's ready to feel me in his arms, but I'm ready to shake.
To shake and say what I've been hating, but wanting to say:

"I wish I were as happy as you, but baby, not today."

He tells me that he wants me back in his life,
that this other girl just isn't turning out right.
I'm a mess and he knows it, but he's willing to deal
and I think I hate to admit that I'm into him still.
We've fought and we've comforted, we've been through so much.
I've contemplated and couldn't come up with enough
so I told him, as a friend would say, to try and work out
with the girl who doesn't seem to be shaping out.

And he, he doesn't give in... he's waitin' for the move in.

Oh!- I wish I could fix her problems-
give her a bit of my personality
to make this so-called love into a solid reality.
So she could let him know that they've got problems of their own
and when the goin' gets tough, you've gotta work it out, not run.
She's being hit blind-sided with his smiles and his fights,
but she doesn't see it- he's perfection in her eyes.

I miss him like crazy. He's my very best friend.
He knows that I'll love him to the very end.
I hope that he gets happier as times move along
and I hope she sees how great he is;
that she'll see I'm not wrong.

I could toss a thousand other problems into this mill of life.
I'm striving to be better, I'm trying not to cry.
My heart used to stand up on it's own and would shine through my eyes,
but now it's been tormented- it's a recluse inside.
Here I am on my porch step, confiding in the moon
and like a drunk to a stranger saying: "I hope this is over soon"
I feel like I could give up, like others do these days.
I don't see that happening, not soon anyway.

Just come sit with me on my porch steps.
Let me hold your hand.
Let me make you see that i'm not Superman-I know you'll understand.
I'm a jumbled mess, but still beautiful, just as imperfection is.

Learn more about this author, Sophi De Rossett.
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