You know who you are…
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
You’re the one waiting in the cuts
quietly for me, so that you can stab
the back of me.
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
You say one thing and mean another thing.
Kind-of blindsiding me,
underneath lying to me.
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
Even if I wasn’t able to see,
I’d feel you observing me.
It’s no wonder that you’re trying to
be so close to me, you want to be like me.
Tying to be a friend to me, to get to know
me personally.
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
Every time we’re speaking
I treat it like you’re interviewing me,
letting you know what I want you
to know about me.
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
You practice peoples ways to be something.
You are one way one day,
And the next day another way.
Wishy, washy, some-timey…
You don’t know who you are.
You spend so much time being fake,
That eventually you get caught
Predictably changing up your ways…
C. E. Perry 11/2011
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