I am not going to be your shoulder.
I am not going to be your crutch.
I am saying this as just as much for me as for you.
Because you don’t know it but that tugging on your wrists?
Darling, that’s my heart strings.
I looped them round when you weren’t lookin
And I swore I’d never cut them off.
Well I wish I had.
Wish before you stretched them far into the country of the big sky
That I would have used these little scissors to cut them short.
Because I can feel you tugging.
The dance of your hands half way round the world
Causing this old woman heart to kick like a mule whose never known the bridle.
So I’ll cross my legs, dig in deep and repeat to me myself and I this mantra:
I am not your shoulder.
I am not your crutch.
Your problems are your own.
And though I do care about you
I can not solve them for you.
And for us both to make it out alive
I can’t even help you.
So mind this hum inside my chest and along those wires round your wrists
I can’t help but sing it morning noon and night
Because that’s how often I wish it was different.
But it’s not
It’s still the same.
I am still her and you are still him
But I will not be your shoulder.
I will not be your crutch.