I’m going to be letters
And leave you to make words
And you can tell me what I am
You can tell me I’m “a writer.”
I’ll be a writer of lyrics and a reader of scripts
Of scriptures and I’ll paint the pictures
But he’ll call me “a listener.”
So I’ll close my eyes and drop my arms, which shows him I can follow
I don’t sit nearly as hollow as he believes
Because I should hold a guitar, but I juggle a pen
Because I have a paper due
On the laws of physics and physical characteristics
But I must watch to learn
Before I can stand on the other end
With a microphone hanging so people can listen to me
And she can listen and she’ll see, she’ll say “You’re a revolutionary.”
I can be a revolution and stick a needle in your arm that carries the solution
To these sounds we call words
That can be soft and still scare even though you’re not even there to hear them
I can hate her and I’ll still be “a revolutionary.”
As long as I make someone happy enough to care
And I’ll probably go through seventy-two years and never say a word
That makes sense to me, not a word that you can carry with you
And I’ll say, “Not a writer, nor a listener, nowhere near a revolutionary, you’re just hard to find.
You’re another book on a shelf, colored yellow with a stress-free spine.
In the last few stages of the story maybe I’ll stop turning pages
I can rip them out, who knows what I can do until it’s done, you can only suppose
That I’ll knit together a cozy place to sleep
To avoid cold weather and rosy, little cheeks
I’ll need thousands to keep me warm and turning to reflect others back to themselves
I’ll need to fall in love with more than just raspy voices,
And if I pick from many choices can I be sure to judge correctly and openly?
I’ll have to picture myself married to other sunsets
That fall above the sea and sit free between mountains
When I’m picked for the roles of characters that can be what I didn’t ask for
Is when I’ll learn to live in comfort, knowing I’m a dollar bill that’s more than it’s worth
Because my lights bounce off of colored glass windows
He’ll see red
And you’ll see sweet baby blue
They’ll probably look away
And I can only want to”