Sunday, March 8, 2015

My Music Scene

My Music Scene

In my car,
windows rolled up tight,
I can feel the chords
of my favorite guitarist
reverberate in my chest.
My head is tossing around
to the melody
as my hands beat out
the rhythm of the drums
on my gray steering wheel.
Sun glasses on, hairy messy,
my yellow guitar pick held
firmly in my jaw.
I am happy, I am free,
I am myself.


What I'll Miss - A Reposting

What I’ll Miss

Random thoughts you voiced to me
still remain in my Poetry Prompts list
on my phone. They still make me smile
and remember the good in our friendship.

This past November you read every single poem
that I wrote each day of the month,
sometimes checking in at 2:30AM
right before going to bed
so you wouldn’t miss the day’s piece.
You told me what you thought
from a simple I liked it
to a deeper I really connected with that one
to that's what I expected tonight,
a thoughtful one.
One night drunkenly telling me that
I love your writing and your poetry
so I wouldn’t feel bad that you
didn’t have time to read one right away.

The encouragement to use your ideas
to help propel my own words.
And the motivation to turn a poem into a song,
even though it Doesn’t matter if it ever
sees the light of day, writing and playing
is the important part.

I got worried that we talked
too much about me and my life
so I asked you about your days
playing music, hanging with family, and working.
I got to know you
through your stories, music, and jokes.

The times I’ll miss the most
are the ones in which we connected,
even though we were physically so far apart,
but that didn’t seem to affect our friendship.
I already miss sharing my poetry
with you and knowing
that at least one person will read,
understand, and appreciate my words.
I already miss your humor, stories, encouragement
and kind words that kept me going
when I was being too hard on myself.

This is why I cry,
because you were special,
and I already miss you.

The person that this is about was really the first person to make me feel confident as a writer, that someone could actual relate to, and that someone really enjoyed, my poetry. And for someone like me, that meant the world, and gave me so much confidence in my work and in myself. And even though it still hurts over a year later, I will always be grateful for the good things he gave me.

So I wrote this poem a while back and posted it here. I took it down after awhile. The subject and I went through a really horrible falling out, and it hurt to look at it, even though it's about the good. And I guess that's why I put it back up, to remember the good. Everything in it is true (and he knows this too); and no, not all the good is in here.