cassandra-millam
American
On monday nights you'll find me filtering my heart through lungs over tongue and teeth. / To a disinterested firing squad whose shots of bourbon and vodka I fall quietly beneath. / Perhaps my voice is unlovely, my pen the victim of my shakes. / But my left handed lyrics I'll sing till my cords break. / The ink well and sparrows on my side, metal in my face. / For so long a poor rendition now I feel I'm well portrayed. / Saddened by the people, who never dreamed as a child. / But just as I was born in music, they were born in suit and tie. / What I cannot tell you plainly, I hope you will gather here. / Just the pieces, just the fragments, as the whole cannot make clear. / You'll find me more between the lines and in the margins on the page. / Just one more face in the crowd aiming for the stage.
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