Threes

She speaks in small talk, it's her native tongue

Learned to hold her own hand, fits like a glove

Drugstore polish, can't shine me bright and new

I learned from the best, how to paint my blues

My mother's mother misses the ocean

And my mother misses who she used to know

On a beach, collecting shells of a person

And I miss everything that I've outgrown

Inside every woman is a little girl

Leave it all behind for the real world