I woke up this morning with a funny taste in my head.
Spackled some butter over my whole grain bread,
Something tastes different, maybe it's my tongue,
Something tastes different, suddenly I'm not so young.
Spackled some butter over my whole grain bread,
Something tastes different, maybe it's my tongue,
Something tastes different, suddenly I'm not so young.
I'm just a stranger, even to myself.
A re-arranger of the proverbial bookshelf.
Don't be a fool girl, tell him you love him.
Don't be a fool girl, you're not above him.
Kiss the boys as they walk by, call me their baby.
But little do they know, I'm just a maybe.
Maybe my baby will be the one to leave me sore.
Maybe my baby will settle the score.
What have I become?
Something soft and really quite dumb.
Because I've fallen, oh, 'cuz I've fall-fallen, oh 'cuz I've fall-fall-fallen
So far away from the place where I started from.
Die alone ~ Ingrid Michaelson
Walking up the stairs from the bus stop, I felt the familiar ache to create music. And then I remembered how I know nothing about this stuff and really am powerless. No instrument is my voice and I am left with feeble attempts that barely make me happy. Happiness isn't even what I'm looking for anyway. No, I know that I never bothered to understand the rules and structures, the theories and constructions of music, although I know full well that is want makes a good musician (Know your theory! - I keep pressing my brother. He has talent too good to waste on elementary self-absorption). If I wanted to express myself through music, I must learn these rules before I have any authority or strength to contemplate breaking them - to make my own, and to call it mine.
And then there's the bigger issue of my life and identity. I don't know how or when I fell asleep here, but at some point, the struggle stopped, and I let the Angel go without giving me a name. My name. I don't know if it was because I was afraid, or because I was tired. But at any rate, I'm left here, whole and intact, which isn't always a good thing.
Not that I'm freaking out or anything. More like sitting in the dust, at midday, dirty and confused, woken by a passing stranger - he introduced himself as Disappointment, and said that he couldn't stick around, but might come back to check on me. Oh well. I stare at my hands and wonder if my legs still work. But before I figure that out, let me lie here a little while longer, while I try to make sense of it all. Maybe the Angel will come back and give me a second chance for more then a name.
Or maybe I should just get the fuck up and see if I can still walk. I'd limp through eternity if it meant that I could dance the truth. Just give me the guts to face You again until you break me, please.
Yes and no. To it all.
And then there's the bigger issue of my life and identity. I don't know how or when I fell asleep here, but at some point, the struggle stopped, and I let the Angel go without giving me a name. My name. I don't know if it was because I was afraid, or because I was tired. But at any rate, I'm left here, whole and intact, which isn't always a good thing.
Not that I'm freaking out or anything. More like sitting in the dust, at midday, dirty and confused, woken by a passing stranger - he introduced himself as Disappointment, and said that he couldn't stick around, but might come back to check on me. Oh well. I stare at my hands and wonder if my legs still work. But before I figure that out, let me lie here a little while longer, while I try to make sense of it all. Maybe the Angel will come back and give me a second chance for more then a name.
Or maybe I should just get the fuck up and see if I can still walk. I'd limp through eternity if it meant that I could dance the truth. Just give me the guts to face You again until you break me, please.
Yes and no. To it all.
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