Take These Scissors, You'll Need Them

I'm the policeman of players,

not that anyone has called 911.

These days, you're told to yell fire

even if you mean help or rape, because

people only come running for flames.

Maybe I only lay down the rules

because I've been played too much,

like piano keys and marionette strings.

And honey, they've got your strings tied so tight

that you can't even see what they want you to.

All you can see is yourself, and

what's tied up behind your paper doll eyes.

Anger, betrayal, lost love,

dancing in front of you,

acting out what you refuse to believe.

But I've got a lighter and a little time

to try and make you understand

that while your life is burning down around you,

mine is just getting started.

And what's more, I've got all the pieces

of my heart in one place.

See, I learned to run, girl,

while you just learned to sleep

with any boy who says three pretty words

in your direction.

No, I'm not jealous, and there's no envy here;

sure, maybe I'm a bit bitter, 

but I've played those songs that make me cry enough times

to see him screw you without leaking a tear.

And while you cry because the boy you're with

isn't the boy you love, but that boy you love

used you as a cheap fix experiment,

I'm turning heads and laughing my way

to being happy with being just me. 

So don't feel sorry for me, because rest assured,

I'm not the one who needs pity.

Wisdom comes with experience, 

and you're no exception to the rules.
Cut yourself down, get away, and grow up.

And until you do,

love will only be another four letter word.