sometimes I turn off the black little face of my phone
so that I can be alone
and not have to worry about you worrying about me.
I know you're expecting me home tonight
but I'm too young to be expected or predicted or usual
I don't want to be important or anticipated or waited on
I just need to be alone
I have to be alone.
sometimes I turn off the blank little face of my phone
so I don't feel at home
I don't want to be at home
have you noticed how little time I spend there
it's not because of family or mem'ries or suburbia
it's not because I hated childhood, it's because I'm too well denied
living inside a set of lines, that I made -- for my life.
I don't need to be spontaneous or individual or adventurous
I don't want to be a rebel, hopping freight trains like my father
so the only lines that defined him were the tracks he runs over and the states that he crosses
I don't need to be my sister, hitchhiking down the coast because 11th grade got complicated
and you can be sure that the pencil strokes of her note weren't the only lines she left behind
but I don't need to defy
I don't need to defy
I just need to not -- be defined
can you understand.
can you understand why sometimes I turn off the blank little face of my phone
even in a room full of people
just so I know that no one who loves me
can find me
and this isn't a cry for help, it's a plea for understanding can you understand
that I'm not -- old enough to be at home
I don't -- want to be at home
but this place is beginning to feel -- familiar
this room is as messy as the one I grew up in
you are as constant as a cat or a mother -- or a street
how can you be a street, without a home
you are -- a home
I am -- at home with you
but I don't want to be at home
I can't be at home
do you understand.
do you understand why sometimes I turn off the blank little face of my phone?