Samantha McCaleb ends almost every text
With a smiley face and if she keeps
Over-using it, I tell her, it will eventually
Lose meaning. She looks up from her phone, smiles and says,
She's a book lender, an emotion-eater,
And the kind of security blanket
That thinks it's ratty and tattered, but really is
The best protection from the words
That like to attack the back.
Samantha says it's stupid to expect instant fame,
And I guess it is, but I know it hurts when
She sings to her camera late at night,
Each note sounding like a hope she thinks she
Doesn't deserve. Her words are written from
The heart she tries to hide on the inside of her sleeve
Because she's slowly realizing it's less dangerous like that.
She wants to sing and she wants people to listen,
But I don't think she knows when to stop waiting.
Patience is a virtue some days I think she's missing.
But other days, I look and she has too much.
Samantha is too caught up in social politics
And "Does he like me? I hope he likes me,
But he said he did, but then he doesn't act like it,
Somebody love me, please."
She wears cowboy boots every day, and
Has never been out of the South.
Her mother once forced her to get a spray-tan,
And she walked around orange for a few months.
She's been a cheerleader since a boy told her
He thought she'd look good in the uniform-
It's amazing how far words like that can go,
Especially to a girl who's afraid of people's opinions
Almost as much as she's afraid of tornadoes.
Her parents have been divorced for five years now,
And Samantha's learnt to overuse the word "love"
Like she does her smiley faces.
I think she's afraid
Of that word when it has meaning,
So flings it around and waits patiently for the day
When it can't hurt her.