demo 11​/​30​/​14

by Joan Smith

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This song doesn't have a chorus, sry.


I can tell how old your scars are
just by looking at the color.
I've got images;
a database of reference files.

I noticed when I got a tan last summer,
parts of me stayed stripped with white -
I'd say it's been three years since then,
or just about.

So he pulls my clothes off and he asks me
what the bandages are from.
When I tell him I don't know,
I feel him knowing.
And I see his shoulders in the morning
and understand he didn't need an answer -
just my response.

It's not fair to say that I don't
know what's going on with me.
I saw this on TV once or
maybe this was me once,
and I'm sort of afraid that I
never figured out how to be happy.
What if all those years of freedom from
the weights that hang down
from the folds within my brain like anchors
were just someone else's stability?

Sometimes I decide to sit down
on the pavement
even when it's raining
just because I can't stand up any longer.
And all the time,
I don't know how to go on without
the piece of me that's not lost,
but is taking so long getting found.

There's a gaping hole inside of me
and I won't say I didn't know
how big it was until it got torn out.

And I'll keep saying things,
but I won't go back and repeat them.
I am far too confused to know
what should be heard more than once.


released June 20, 2015
I recorded this on my camera then converted it 1,000 times so it has no quality but there we are.



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Joan Smith Boston, Massachusetts

sad sometimes.

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