Hurricane

It's those highlighters I hate,
the ones that you colour everything with
when the downpour's become a hurricane.
The rain's slammin' through the screen door,
the chipped one that scrapes on the back porch.
And I hate your crooked smile
'cause it follows me everywhere I go.
It's in the picture frames
and it's in my dreams.
You're such a cheshire cat,
always poking your nose into everyone's business
just when we've all forgotten you.
It makes me laugh that quiet laugh,
the one you pinch out of me sometimes,
knowing you won't call.
It's one of those nights
where I'm not a hurricane.

Then again,
aren't I always just a drizzle?

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"But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane."

-Looking for Alaska