She is a clear vibration of a violin string tight with tension, shivering in song, singing in pain.
She is a dustmote dancing in the dusk sparkling in dullness, joyful even at the end.
She is the warmth of an old flannel blanket passed down through generations until it's softer than a kiss.
She is the shine of a lucky penny in your pocket.
She is the cool of a breeze in summer sweat.
She is class.
She is kindness.
She is the Singing One.
She is my friend.
It may as well be sunny
It may as well be May
The sky may as well be bright
The trees may as well be green
The people may as well be smiling
It may as well be Spring
I may as well be dancing
The birds may as well be singing
Singing with me
I don't know who I'm supposed to be singing to
But he's gotta be out there
And I hope he's singing, too
I hope he's thinking the same thing
I hope he's thinking that no one out there
Could ever love him
Because when I show up
It'll be that much more special
Wherever you are,
I hope you hear me
Because I'm singing to you
The first line iced with hope; straight from the heart.
Melody striving to impress; the sound of a fresh start,
The world would hear the latent pain- only they listened closely.
And maybe in those happy lyrics, they would see the irony.
No, never with their minds; they only listened with their ears.
Only heard her 'happy' melody; never her unspoken fears.
Sung too many times, her chorus had lost its charm.
'Encore. Encore. It can't possibly do you any harm.'
The winds yelled cruelly, the clouds roared with fury and might.
Trials and tribulations; the universe always ready to pick a fight.
There was no exit from this world- this battlefield of horror,
Where soldiers trudged unarmed, yet unscathed never.
Nostalgia struck; breaking through her unfortified mind.
The prettiest of smiles on her lips; it was time to rewind.
There was no audience; not a soul around to stare.
Singing on the road sans inhibition, she had not a care.
Never has melodies
And words been such a
Not until now.
They used to comfort me
Accompany me in my pains
They hurt my ears now
And my hands
And I flee from them if I could.
Can offer any relief
In my sorrow.
And grasping for air
Never has it been like this.
How can I have forgotten
Something that I used to do
Night and Day
And with all my strength?
My heart has no song
It is but an empty sheet
I noticed something was wrong when I stopped singing. This was my outlet, my way of expressing all of my feelings. Everything I had ever thought was brought to life by song. Then I stopped, and it was all your fault. No song seemed to describe how I felt about you. I liked you. I hated you. I adored you. I cursed you. But most of all, I loved you.
So I started writing. To cover up my feelings with metaphors and similes that nobody but me understood.
I've thought about showing you these writings. I knew you would understand them. You were so much like me. You knew my thoughts better than I did. But I was scared. Scared to show you how I felt because like you with the world, I was scared that you wouldn't accept me.
When I became aware of this, how I felt, I became distant. I didn't want you to see how I had grown to love you. I knew you would. You were like me. You knew something was wrong and when you asked me about it, I avoided you even more. This hurt me so much more than I think it did you.
I stopped singing. This one dead spark is what lit up a whole new world of mysteries and confusion about you and me alike. That was it. One simple thing.
I stopped singing.
i saw a young black man
singing his heart out today
in the parking lot of an overused grocery store.
he was singing and singing
but no one would listen.
i myself just kept walking by.
i saw a women walking a goat
in the apartment complex behind my house.
she waved at me
but i was more concerned about the black man
in the parking lot of a fancy grocery store,
all by himself.