I don’t quite know how I feel about peaches.
If a girl’s is fixing to eat a fruit, then why settle
For an inferior product?

I’m kidding; they’re nice and all.
(Sweet and kind of mushy)
I admit I tried one in a moment of weakness last year.
It was actually really good kinda like an apple,
But different, because I didn’t remember you when I ate it.



I don’t quite know how I feel about being a teacher. It
Just
Ain’t
Right
Trusting me to take care of a wagonload of fillies and colts
When I could just barely raise Bloom without letting her maim herself.

Twilight believes in me
But
It makes me so stressed, I could scream.
I do scream sometimes, (in the supply cabinet next to the second floor bathrooms)
I put my head in a pile of the linens to muffle the sound

I don’t know why a school needs so many doggone linens.



I don’t quite know
How I feel
About
Death.

My death, specifically.
Which is kind of funny
Because I know exactly how I feel about
Yours.

But for me, well it’s still ain’t never gonna happen.
(But it will, if I’m being Honest.)



I don’t quite know
How I feel about where I’m at.
I reckon I feel good, for the most part.

I used to worry about the Acres all the time.
I used to worry about Mac and Bloom and Granny.

But (not to jinx it) I think
We’re doing
Okay.

I feel guilty for thinking it,
Because I know that anything can go wrong on a farm
Anytime.

But in that little secret spot in my heart
If I squint and look at it a certain way I can tell that I’m happy.



I don’t quite know how you feel about me.
Are you proud?

I know I’m not doing as good a job as you could’ve.
I know it I know it I know it.

But I hope it ain’t too big a boast when I say I think
I did enough.



Don’t you worry none about your son.
He’s found himself a nice filly.

He’s asked for help expanding the farm house, and although he won’t admit it
We all know
It’s because he wants to bring her home.



Don’t you worry none about your baby.
I don’t know how I did it
(I really, really don’t!)
But she’s finally coming into herself now.

The day she got her Mark, this knot in my belly
That tugged on my heart everyday
Just went and
Unraveled
Until there was
Nothing left but relief.



Don’t you worry none about your mother.
She’s earned her rest
Many times over

Now we let her nap between every meal.
(But of course, we pretend we didn’t see her do it.)




Don’t you worry none about me.

I’m so happy with my friends, I hope you aren’t jealous of them.
I love them, but I still love you.

I need to ask you a question
(and please don’t get mad at it)
Because this has been gnawing away at me for just a little while.

Is it alright that I don’t miss you every day?
Is it alright that I forget to, some days?