For an hour on my drive to school at night,
When the music and headlights come on,
For that hour I'm a rock star.
If you stop and stare even better,
and I'd congratulate you because you are my audience.
I'm the drummer, singer, bassist, piano player and guitarist,
Hell I'm even the guy playing with lights back stage.

But as soon as I park and get out of my car,
I'm not a singer, I'm not a musician and
I'm certainly tone deaf.
Yeah I'm a resenting has been and ex-husband,
I don't eat, sleep or **** but writing is what keeps me sober these days.
Singing is what keeps my mind off the time,
and music what keeps me off the lines.

I used to give out ratings.
Now I keep the words to myself
and if my opinion is asked of me,
I just give them the simple half.
Let them figure out what's missing,
the way I found out what I was needing.

I may not make a mill next year,
or be able to pay the bills this month.
But I will be recognized for the things that are
put on billboards and on your bedroom walls.
I will be known for the message you wear everyday,
and for giving a face to the girl that sings in the dark on stage
and plays in your car all day.

But for just this hour I'm just a simple rock star.

There are days I wake up empty and alone,
and I notice the half page written note,
left sitting on my bed.

It's not a thank you or a goodbye note,
Its not an I hate you or I love you note either.
"I'm sorry" scrawled across the page is what's written.
It suits you and your childlike heart.
It's how you've done your apologies,
for the past eight years.

I'm just waiting for the day,
you'd come back.

I'm sorry you have to go through this alone,

I only have words to try to bring you home.

I've never lost anyone that close to me.

I can't imagine how hard Christmas must be.



I'm sure he would have loved to see you grow,

To see you dressed up in your rain boots and coats,

He would have loved to hold you in his arms back stage,

or just before you go out for your show.



He would have been proud to see the two women he's raised,

Working hard to keep a family, a house and driving their mother insane.

He would have loved to hear you play,

All the songs you write with such detail and love.



He would have loved to be a grandfather,

He would have loved to see his grand sons and daughters.

Sometimes people leave us, to make us stronger.

At least that's what I tell my mother, when she misses my father.

I want something more than ordinary.
I want something more than good enough.
I am far more than unfamiliar, something so unusual.
Part of me filled in realism and the other with vicious hope.

I am not the empty space in your bed,
or the ***** sheets in your hand.
I am not your mistakes,
I am not your change.
I am not the missing ring on your hand,
I am not the slave you pretend.
I am not the words you hate,
or the sounds you fake.

I am a symphony of colors swirling streamers,
I am the wishful thinker, the day dreamer.
I am the waning sunset that makes your silhouette.
I am the daily voice that stays in your head.
I am your reminder of every clever one liner.
I am just myself for you, no less, no finer.

I am the early morning light,
that peeks in through your window.
I am the soft early autumn breeze,
that caresses you in late summer heat.
I am the midnight rain,
that quietly pitter-patters you to sleep.
I am the smile you receive from every face you meet,
that reminds you of your beauty.
I am the passing seasons of every year
that reminds you of me.
I am the one you still love,
buried six feet underneath.

There's one thing
I have to tell you.

I can't stop uttering,
anything about you.

Whether its about the midnight rain
and how it describes your voice so well,
or the way you won't stop singing,
till you're satisfied and sewn me to sleep.

If I look at the dark orange spotted afternoon,
or the satin red leaves of autumn.
I'll know its been a while since I've thought
of you.

If I hear the chalky barren concert of concrete,
or the uproar of the arid wind.
I'll have forgotten what your voice
sounds like.

If I feel the reticent tremble of winter,
or the cold bitter piercing destitute bed.
I'll remember why our adulation had
my heart in a headlock.

I cannot give you the world
or my name.
Because I do not own them.
All I can give you is my love and lungs,
that is all that I have and hold.

All I'll ever ask of you is for your voice and love.
You make my head lighter with just
some notes you sing.

It was like a voice
It told me to wake up,
Get up and get away from the ground.
This is not the place.
This is not the way.

It told me you are not insane,
You have so much to play.
We all get discouraged from time to time
We always have people saying it can't done.
Creating interjections like impossible! and undoable!

That voice woke me up,
It shook me out and tore me down.
That voice has sung me to sleep
and has screamed at me obscenities.

But that voice and that voice alone
has made me, me.
That's why I love her.
She is my symphony, my scene, my hands,
But most of all she is my voice.

It's the way she smiles,
that look she has when shes angry,
the way the wind plays with her hair,
the mannerisms of her hands,
the soft spoken way she sings.

It's the way she laughs,
those soft lips she wears,
how she tickles your neck with her nose,
the scent she leaves in your car,
the really dry jokes she tells.

It's because of me,
I made her that way,
helped her grow and let her go.
Its called hunger
because she'll never be satisfied,
with loving every person.