Picket fence girl.
Board straight, with your heart in a tangle,
your boy is saying he loves you, and you’re happy aren’t you?
you’re high school sweet hearts, stuck in a rut,
thinking this is as good as it gets, optimistically.
You’re marking the days off your calendar,
waiting for date in particular, but knowing someday you’ll get away.
You were grown here, a white picket fenced house,
and you always wanted more than this.
Discouraged, aren’t you picket fence girl?
That boy says he loves you, but doesn’t ask you how you are,
and your high school love that was so sweet, tastes sour now.
You look at the road, and say the city seems awfully far…
That boy is on one knee, a frown set in his face,
asking you to settle down in your own picket fence yard.
It’s like he never listened to your dreams, to your wide-eyes fascination,
and you look in his dead eyes, that you must’ve loved at one point,
and you just nod, yes because this must be as good as it gets.
You stop marking days off the calendar,
and that boy doesn’t even tell you he loves you anymore,
and you’re sitting on your picket fence,
board straight and heart in a twist, wondering
how far the city is again, and there must be something better than this.