Conejo Malo

Swaying to words that I don't totally understand, I am floating in a haze of marijuana and your gritty voice. Breakups, painting your nails, the lonely famous life... Your honesty is a lullaby to my anxious, snobbish thoughts of having so much knowledge and not knowing how to say it. My body can't dance like my nerves can, firing to the beat of "Caro". Your genre SWAT team kicked down a door into the male psyche I had never seen before, and you spearheaded the operation with purple nail polish and triangle sunglasses. Me miran raro pero a nada yo le paro. The child in me deems you my superhero.

The world is in a buzz because of you recognizing Alexa, but you had me way before then when you told me you knew how much you worth and you were rich. Rich for being yourself, painting your nails in a stubbornly machismo world. When you told me everyone looked at you funny, but you never stopped being you. When you'd let the man behind the expensive shades and pointy teeth and famous friends shine through. I spent years trying to unleash the little beast within me in the way that you did. I would never say that I was successful in doing so, though people like what I make. Yet, on or off of the ground, I can easily say that when the little beast inside seeps through my pores, she's always singing one of your songs, and that's something to be proud of because she stopped singing a long long time ago.