Song of Myself
From newborn to child I was quiet,
misunderstood and curious.
Now left all a blur,
it sings rather mysterious.
Reality itself was nothing important,
the realism of life and love was unkind.
Living, laughing, loving and leaving was all i knew,
yet it was life and it stood before my eyes.
The leather seat smell of his car,
should've told me he wouldn't always be there.
The bitter coldness of his room,
should've told me that in love I was alone.
If his skin hadn't been so soft,
the heartache wouldn't have been so rough.
If my heart didn't have a beat only for you,
the rhythm would drift so much easier.
Sadness is only real,
when the heart touches it.
The pitter patter of the rain on your window,
replays in my heart.
I can analyze down to the very core,
the difference between raining and pouring.
It rained the day you told me those three words,
they meant so much.
Yet poured,
the day you said you never meant them.
Happiness is the key to life.
Happiness is the wind in your hair,
free flowing.
Happiness is only as real as you make it.
Silence we spoke,
the time arguments roared through my home.
Our home...
For days no one spoke,
family is when you don't tell each other the truth,
because you care.
That feeling of silence was real.
Having the sand between your toes and the ocean at your ankles,
is freedom.
Like waiting all year for that one trip,
to get away...
and finally getting there.
Freedom.
When it's all said and done,
I'll live,
laugh,
love,
and leave as I was taught.
Nothing but memories,
and still no one sings this song of myself but me...
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