How Often
How often is it
That the day comes to an end
And you already wish that you could replay
The events, mundane or maniacal as they are,
Redo them;
Take back everything up until right before the point
That you were five
And you told another girl that you liked the boy in the other class
And later that day six kids came back and made fun of you
Until you cried and went home;
Back to you when you were eight,
And the little fat fuck in the grade ahead of you
Kicked your weeble-wobble (and they don't fall down) punching bag
Into a californian cactus plant at your birthday party and
It deflated, so you went with Dad to get the pizza
Because you couldn't stand to be around the other kids
And it was YOUR party
But even then you knew that they were all different than you;
Back to when you were nine and 3/4 and you wrote Brian Froud
And told him that you DID believe in faeries and that he was wonderful,
Adding a picture you drew in the letter,
And he wrote you back and told you to BELIEVE;
Back to when you were 12 and really thought that
You would marry Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Gallactica (the real one)
and the A-Team;
Back to when you were 16 and on location with Mom on a film
And smoked pot for the first time with the movie crew and
First kissed a 41 year-old-man who would change the standard
That you set for what a kiss should be from then until now
And who became your first Mentor;
Back to when time stood still,
Whether it was dragging along during a boring class,
Or sashayed along during a wonderful day driving around with the gang
Or gently swayed under the stars being serenaded by your future husband,
It still all went more slowly, the minutes and hours took their time
Whereas now they rush.
Even the slowest most boring days at my job fly by
As if they are in a race to get somewhere.
The days skip almost as fast
As the small lines form around my eyes
And the furrowed brow that is a mild crease
It looks like my sister's,
We both look quite young on a good day,
But we'll never look as young as our mother.
If I could replay it all, back to it all,
I would bring it back to the time before the watch was invented;
An old friend once told me time was simply a joke
Invented by the Swiss
So the watch would come into fashion.
I am still trying to figure out if he was right.
That the day comes to an end
And you already wish that you could replay
The events, mundane or maniacal as they are,
Redo them;
Take back everything up until right before the point
That you were five
And you told another girl that you liked the boy in the other class
And later that day six kids came back and made fun of you
Until you cried and went home;
Back to you when you were eight,
And the little fat fuck in the grade ahead of you
Kicked your weeble-wobble (and they don't fall down) punching bag
Into a californian cactus plant at your birthday party and
It deflated, so you went with Dad to get the pizza
Because you couldn't stand to be around the other kids
And it was YOUR party
But even then you knew that they were all different than you;
Back to when you were nine and 3/4 and you wrote Brian Froud
And told him that you DID believe in faeries and that he was wonderful,
Adding a picture you drew in the letter,
And he wrote you back and told you to BELIEVE;
Back to when you were 12 and really thought that
You would marry Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Gallactica (the real one)
and the A-Team;
Back to when you were 16 and on location with Mom on a film
And smoked pot for the first time with the movie crew and
First kissed a 41 year-old-man who would change the standard
That you set for what a kiss should be from then until now
And who became your first Mentor;
Back to when time stood still,
Whether it was dragging along during a boring class,
Or sashayed along during a wonderful day driving around with the gang
Or gently swayed under the stars being serenaded by your future husband,
It still all went more slowly, the minutes and hours took their time
Whereas now they rush.
Even the slowest most boring days at my job fly by
As if they are in a race to get somewhere.
The days skip almost as fast
As the small lines form around my eyes
And the furrowed brow that is a mild crease
It looks like my sister's,
We both look quite young on a good day,
But we'll never look as young as our mother.
If I could replay it all, back to it all,
I would bring it back to the time before the watch was invented;
An old friend once told me time was simply a joke
Invented by the Swiss
So the watch would come into fashion.
I am still trying to figure out if he was right.
