Howard Jones Is My Mozart

I like the feeling of being a blank slate
I think I’ve come through something
This is hard for me to admit
In the past I have always expected the worst to happen
Perhaps I still do think the worst will happen
But what if it doesn’t?
What if, at this point
I am in fact free
That I can walk down the street
Get on the bus
Buy a magazine
Talk to a guy in a shop
Try on pair of shoes
I don’t need permission
I can do that

I got my room now
And that’s important
It’s like a base for me
And then there’s that guy, James
I don’t want him to bother me
I don’t want anyone to bother me
I don’t want anyone in my hair
I got my room and that’s the main thing
But he is okay
If I could allow one person to bother me
It might possibly be James
Who knows?
It is too early to say

I still got the CD that one of the girls in the hospital lent me
I can’t imagine who made it for her
All of the music is pretty old on it
Pretty random stuff
I like it though
I wouldn’t have liked this stuff before
But hey, I’m a blank slate
I can like it
There’s no rules
No agenda
No learning
Just music
Sweet, simple music

I’ve been memorizing my favorites
I don’t have any instruments
I’ve just been sitting in a patch of sunlight
At the foot of the bed in front of the mirror
I keep one headphone out
And I sing the track along with the CD
I wonder if my voice sounds good
I wonder if I’m even in tune
I have even tried a few scales
Though very quietly
How uncool is that?
Me singing scales in my new room
On the disk is written Jackson Browne, Nina Simone, Bill Withers
On the disk is written Howard Jones
Right now I feel like a starving person who is tasting food for the first time
Howard Jones is my Mozart
He is like buttered toast
Don’t ever tell anyone I said that

I wonder what I should do
When I was in the hospital it was easy
They had a schedule
I was like a kid the whole time
They were in charge; I was a kid
I jumped up and came down here
I put from my mind comforting thoughts about hospital life
I am trying to block out thoughts about sex
I feel like I want to sing, but I’m in the library
I have fantasized for two years now about a job
Any job
Any job that would plucks me back into some sort of normal rhythm
Some sort of normal society
I thought for a while that the flat was going to be enough
But I have to keep moving
I am twenty three
What the hell am I doing in a high street library
Writing about nothing?

I wouldn’t mind kissing him once more
Or at least, I wouldn’t mind having a kiss only policy with him
For some reason I feel that it shouldn’t go any further
But he’s a pretty sensational kisser, hence the policy
I wonder if I could do myself some sort of internal injury
If I just kissed then left the room as soon as the kiss was over
If I never took the seduction any further forward
I couldn’t damage a kidney or a loin or something
It’s a bit annoying I can’t go into the boy’s shop
I want his advice
I want a dress, or something
But I look too much like a boy these days
Why can’t I look like a girly girl once in a while?