I remember the first song I ever wrote
fully fleshed out and written
in scraggly handwriting only readable to me.
And, it was about spring and all the nice seasons. I think:
Look how far I’ve come since fourth grade.
Well, I mean, I’ve accomplished an entire Google Drive folder of rhyming words and melodies
but they’re all sad and dark
and I guess, “poetic”
But, really, nothing like spring.
Some days, I swear I can see black oases in the asphalt of the road
Like liquid black dreams. But then, we drive down the hill.
And they fade into gray rubble. It’s like I was seeing things.
And, some days, I walk among the crowd
Of backpacks more than people,
And, I really swear this time, I keep walking but
it’s zoomed out and I stare in a blurry gaze of cold faces.
They stare and I stare back in an endless numbing haze.
I look but don’t see
Yet never accidentally touch someone, just like
orchid blossoms and snow.
Even after the anesthetic treatment of growing up,
I still miss myself.
I don’t know why. She didn’t play piano
too well, but she was funny and warm
spectacular!