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