reaching out
My muse came from cassettes In a walkman On a school bus While the world passed Sunlight rode waves across my red notebook Sometimes catching my pen Scrawling crimson ink furiously across hungry lined paper.
I was alone then Not like now But I didn't know that then. And, I think it matters To remember Being alone.
To write about those lost moments Scrawling misshaped ideas That held promises That held me
The struggling aspects that fought For some medium to breathe
I was alone then But I'm not anymore.