I hide with bangs, I hide with a buzz cut,
I hide in a dress, I'd hide in Conneticut,
I hide behind a certificate.
I always hurt my right foot
when I hide or pretend.
What comes out when I'm open,
I don't like -
there's no music,
no poem,
no theorem,
no world-scale change.
There's a dad I'm trying to impress,
a voice in my head I want to mute.
I always think I know the truth.
