Vanilla

This is not right
Right now I am too small
To fit the shoes
I would rather
Walk barefoot
Than be your perfect

It is too soon
To give up my bad habits
Of twisting my hair
And biting my nails
And breathing in vanilla

I'm too young to break
the promises I made
Of hands that I love
And hopes that I keep
For eyes brighter than yours

I will not settle
this war
Between myself and what I could be
Rock star, millionaire, poet bohemian
I would rather figure
Where my weapons are

I won't give up
My toy airplane
I've had too much fun
Acting my age
Singing Come fly with Me
Under the Rain

I do not plan
I only pray
But I can't speak straight
My hair will twist
My ears will burn
And vanilla will remain