Same Old Trails

Funny how I lost myself
On the same old trails
Who would know her laugh is just as smooth and toxic
As the smoke she inhales

Young and naive
Behind those green eyes
Slowly undressing secrets
Confining them to the skies

Her father sponsored
Her permanent fake smile
As long as I’m not there
When she walks down the aisle

She sold our love
For luxury and fame
I honestly don’t know
On whom I should blame

I didn’t even get to ask
She was supposed to say “I do”
Now she’s saying it to some man
And my brown eyes have turned blue

She called me many times
In the darkest hours of the night
Tears marking her pale skin
Her voice wasn’t just as bright

Those three words
Repeated as a broken record
Not as broken as she left me
Is that so hard to see?

I gave her a second chance
We could just go, run away
She never came though
Told me she was “bound to stay”

Her name still lights up my phone
I know because I never let it go
Even if I don’t answer
She knows I can’t say no.

I saw her many times
Standing right beside him
Putting up with the fake show
Does he even know?

I bet she didn’t tell him
Specially the sad part
Last time we kissed
She left me nothing else
Only swollen lips and a broken heart

-Mimmi ( @ranawayfromhome )

(Please don’t make any changes)
People thought/think that if you’re a female that you can’t play a certain instrument or a certain kind of music. It’s crazy. The other boys in that class were the same age as I was and no one was having a meeting about whether or not it was ‘appropriate’ for them to learn to play the drums. Why was it inappropriate, because I was a girl? What is so different about a girl’s hands, holding sticks and hitting drums to a beat, from any other kid? It’s idiotic.
—  Sandy West, Queens of Noise: The Real Story of the Runaways