for him I write and sing

I’ve been circumspect in every way and act – except in love (the facts- I should reserve some doubt for that)

It’s made me second guess every move and step – is she awkward, is she smart, is she good enough in art and all the things I’ve spent my life to beg the masses for a like.

It’s been a challenge transitioning these crafts I use for therapy to a thing I share and hope they care but now I know the saying clear – it’s not art until someone says it’s art.

Either way we go, another song, picture and poem.

I remember years ago I sang a show where no one showed me any mind. At the time this sucked me dry. At the end I sat alone, a man came up and asked to sit and pulled a chair with tears he hit an arrow straight into my chest. He said my song had brought him back. He said I spoke right to his soul and thanked me for the lovely show. He said I sang his life out loud. And, though I thought the crowd had drowned the verses out, he heard.

For him I write and sing.