You know those kids, the ones that used to be hiding out underneath your staircase. Hidden away, stashed and stowed. "You are an embarrassment to this family!" Well just in case you didn't happen to hear... they got out. I'm pretty sure I saw them on my TV yesterday with skinny jeans and guitars. A microphone to yell they're prayers. I don't always have a microphone but I do have a keyboard and a screen.
Now or later? Like candy, but just with how I feel. Thank God I have had so many reasons for smiles lately. Not picture smiles. Just the kind we had before all the worry started. And I for one can't really remember that far back. I'm sure it's in a history book somewhere. Dust it off for me and read me to sleep.
Round six in the "me vs. myself" battle. I know the right words are gonna come soon. They'll spill out. Woke up doused in blood this morning. I'm not sure if more came from my mouth or my nose. Allergies and moonlit mornings. Maybe the sparkle in my eye is just draining red.
I've been feeling ugly on the inside and no matter what anyone says or does its the only thing going in my ears. Let all of this/me be a lesson to you... there is a point in making it through unscathed. The whole point can be summed up in one word.. "catharsis." I firmly believe this is all coming down to one point... it's all about getting better... to be ok and to be ok with being ok. Do the math to figure all of this out. If you caught me smiling a bit more than usual, it's just cause some tow-truck pulled me out of the ditch and my headlights are pointed the right way again.
God's my favorite artist. Do you know what it feels like to be the work of the greatest artist that ever lived? But even Monet did sketches. It's not so euphoric to be the "yeah its good, but not by far his best work". Scribbled in close quarters with a head flowing. You know, when ideas keep you up all night and you fidget in your seat trying to make the pen move as fast as you. That's where I'm at. Throwing it all in reverse with a keyboard.
I believe in angels again. From 16 yrs old, lost between Fashion and Broadway, to a flat tire on 77 in a drunken stupor. They still show up for me. It's the least I can do to love them back.
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We will forever be a community of writers asking you to fall in (love) or be taken (hostage.) We only want to make you smile, and encourage you to pick up the pen, or start using those fingers on your keyboard!
