Born a Lion




Lyrics to Ani's Song...


Crushcrushcrushcrushcrush...

i'm finding myself obsessed. really, it's...disgusting, but there it is. i haven't been like this, well, since seventh grade. i had a wicked crush on this boy, his name, and i'm not too shy to admit it anymore, was peter. oh, he was pretty! and smart and artistic and...oh oh oh! but tonight, well, tonight i'm going to be honest about my obsessions. i wish i could say i "just drank too much," but, that wouldn't be true. i'm just gonna get myself good and embarrassed. why the hell not, right? i mean, i surely don't have anything to lose... except, you know, self-respect...

so i'm finding myself obsessed. go ahead, ask my friends. they heard all about it. they laughed, driving to an ani concert with me a few weeks ago, at me pantomiming my own ridiculous crush. and really, it is funny...cuz it's true. i mean, i am that pathetic.

but back to this new obsession... sitting in this tired literature class, pressed into an uncomfortable desk, shifting back and forth in it, twisting to look out the window at the sky... i noticed him. dark hair, dark eyes. peter had dark hair and dark eyes too, but that was almost ten years ago. i guess i still have that same pre-teen taste. but not quite, since this man's dark eyes were shrouded with boredom and there was a patch of dark hair balding away. well, it doesn't matter. i was obsessed. upon impact, i was obsessed. don't get me wrong. i wasn't going to start stalking him. as tempting as it might be to follow him home, i wasn't going to make my thoughts known. just bite my lip and wonder. never had someone struck me as so earthy beautiful before. his flat nose and long legs sliding into the desk in front of him. leaning back with his eyes closed lightly. oh god, obsessed. beautiful.

look at this. i'm already getting embarrassed, trying to fit into what's expected of me. people don't talk about this. people don't admit this. particularily to this forced audience. particularily when members of this forced audience know exactly what class i'm talking about and probably the beautiful boy... or man... too... oh, i'm embarrassed...

if i was still twelve, i'd call it a crush...yeah, so it's still a crush. i'm twenty and it's a crush... well, maybe a little different. crushes are cute. this.... well, this is pathetic. i mean, at least with crushes you talk to them. this is just....obsession. not dangerous or violent or even...verbal... but... obsessed.

i watched him, taking notes in tight handwriting. the professor uttering intellectual jewels....i wasn't paying any attention...just little phrases drifting in... "...love making... keatsian influence... birds... one another's arms... sexually vital beings..." i sighed and looked back out the window, masking my blushing face.

this couldn't be normal. especially for me. really, ask any man i've ever come in contact with. i am scared shitless of them. but don't worry, i'm talking to my shrink about it. am i kidding? we'll call it a secret... but this really couldn't be normal. do women just... watch.... imagine... strange men... oh dear... he was a stranger, but i saw him studying in my kitchen. napping on my couch, the tv playing without sound in my slight day-dream. reading in my bed. still blushing. i mean, what did i know about him? he could be married, have a girlfriend, have a boyfriend. he could be an addict or some other non-amusing degenerate... still blushing... while the rest of the room staunchly studied yeats, i studied the curve of his ear. the laces in his shoes. the joint of his knee. yep, obsessed. that's right, and he's still a stranger.

i looked down at myself, judged myself. too tall... could stand to lose a little padding around my middle... fat lips... piercings in my face... passionately unfashionable, a men's undershirt, long skirt, broken sandles... strangely uneven fingernails, the way i keep them for my guitar... and a notebook before me, not with notes, but waiting poems and tiny thoughts. people think i'm brave. i don't play the role of north dakotan well, and they think it makes me brave. if only they knew how self concious i am about it... just not sure of how to be someone else... but i was so scared to watch this beautiful being. keeping my lips sealed tight. pathetic....

so, class ends. it always does, even when it feels like it won't. and he leaves. and i put my notebook away and pull on my jacket and my scarf. sling my bag across my chest, and slide it around so it rests on my butt. and i leave too. and it doesn't matter, cuz i still haven't, never will, ask if i can follow him home...

pathetic...



Backwards to Asking Too Much
Forward to Both Hands


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