Manic Pixie Dream Girl

When I was just a kid I found a lovely set of wings
stuffed inside a tub of the disregarded
the kind you stretch over your shoulders
and wear around in imagine
I scrambled and stretched, contorted and pulled
I just couldn't get them to fill out my back bones
I had to refit my shoulders, pull tighter my spine
I had to sculpt, mold, and paint myself
the right shades of magical
My soul had turned to water
since the first days of my masquerade
slipping out through my eyes just to spite my make-up plastered on
It would rise to a boil every time
the starry eyed latched on to my wings to fly
I hadn't realized what I'd done I wasn't expecting the expectation
the lie I dressed in was only supposed to convince myself
I tried to look magical, I wished I could be magical
I never imagined people would come to me to be their magician
I can barely paint happy faces I can't make yours
I can only run and stuff my arms into wings too small
I've never been able to fly I can't carry you, I am not magic
I found strife with this goal I hadn't intended to choose
a final destination written as a label over my forehead as a
manic pixie dream girl the end all be all girl to be
The water of my soul boiled again as it
went unseen beneath my bones
heat from the mistaken sights of my being
I'm not magic I'm just trying to be

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