She said she had nothing to say
and the hard part was
that I kind of believed her.
She had it sometimes, this spark
but never really fleshed it out.
And even when she did
she always just kind of played the part
but never really got it how I saw it in her.
I think I just wanted her to be this muse
which she understood she couldn’t be.
Not because she didn’t want to but rather
because she’d already given so much of herself
that there really wasn’t more to give.
And what’s the point of giving your all
to something that never really gave you anything
but headaches and a broken heart?
Oh how we live for those who treat us like dirt
because in the end we respect them better than
the rest who smile and nod and tell us how
good of a job we’re doing just to get through the day.
But they don’t really care. To them
we might as well not even exist. I mean really
who do you call when you’re at rock bottom?
You call the ones you’ve loved, lost, and
will love regardless of the pain they’ve caused
because even when she said she had nothing
to say, I knew better than that.
I just pray she wasn’t telling the truth.
Hell even when I have nothing to say
I have something to say. But that’s me.
That wasn’t and will never be her.
“So don’t think twice it’s alright.”
Bob Dylan said that.
“I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours.”
Bob Dylan also said that.
“Write with fire,” I said that.
I’m probably taking this harder than I should
but that’s who I am and what I do.
I know this. I admit it. I am this.
There is no turning it off, no turning back.
I’ll wake up tomorrow pen in hand regardless.
Don’t it feel good? That spark. Like fire, right?
You just can’t put it down no matter how hard you try.
See, you don’t choose it, it chooses you.
And if you don’t say it, someone will.
It’s all just wishful thinking in the end
so here’s another penny to the well
funny how it doesn’t even make a splash anymore.