Even as I pick the glitter
To get it out of my hair,
The feelings left are bitter,
How can this be fair?
I spend my time counting
All the small pieces
Putting them in order
Leaving no creases.
If I recount your words,
Perhaps it’ll make sense
But you’re too complex
And I’m too dense.
Next time I open an envelope
Registered from you,
I’ll be prepared for the glitter
I’ll be done through and through.
I hope you know,
I’ll never be like you,
And I won’t use glitter
to prove a point too.