I had a home given to me, but not a home that I could call my own and now that I’m with you, I know that I have a home that I can call my own. I’m glad I’m with you because even before I was with you I had fallen for you but tried not to show it. You’re my knight in shinning armor, you’re that red rose that floats in a well full of lily pads. You make my heart soar, you’re my favorite color that showed up from the wind, you’re my hope, my smile, my light and you’re my everything. You make me smile, when I feel like crying, you made me see colors when I only saw black and white when you showed me the real meaning of true love.
You swept me of my feet when I felt alone, when I was lost you found me, when I was thrown away you picked up in your gentle hands, when I was bored you entertained me, every time I looked up I always wish it was your adorable face that I woke up to every morning and the same adorable face that I go to be with at night, you’re the one whose arms I will never leave. You take my breath away when I’m caught off guard, you surprise me in the most amazing ways and I love you for everything you do, and now I can say that I have a home I can fit into.
I used to have an inspiration for music, the inspiration to sing and to write songs. That inspiration has left my lips and left my mind and hands to even put any words down on paper. I lose my tune every time I put a word down on paper and I lost my song, every time I record it, I completely just lose the point of the song being made and the inspiration to bother making the song over again. I used to have songs popping into my head non-stop, but now its nothing, but meaningless words that are empty.
Just once I wish that my inspiration to come back again and stay, just once I wish it something could give me that extra push for me to hit a note, a word, a song, even a verse at least. My inspiration was lost when I let the ridicule of those who disrespected me get under my skin. I let their ridicule and negativity consume my mind, killing my inspiration for my voice to even bother being heard on a recorder, or any song at all.
Their ridicule ate my inspiration, spat it out, walked all over it, and broke it to pieces. Those pieces now cannot be mended even if I tried it can’t be sewn together, like broken glass the pieces were shattered and never found. When I had my voice I would be singing like nothing, although I wouldn’t let anyone hear me. But when I tried to show it, I choked up, I froze, I lost it, and every inch of my voice cracked. No tune, no melody, just words coming out of my mouth, as I stand under a spotlight trying to sing.
After it was all over, all I got was ridicule, sarcasm, knowing that I had messed up. I knew I had already been looked down, that didn’t change anything before. When I try to change it the words kicked my ass like I never actually practiced the song at all.