I have a secret to confess.
I don’t like poetry.
I never have and most likely never will.
However, when I was younger I used to like to write songs with very emo lyrics about boys.
Or hypothetical reverends.
Music has always been in my blood. My Dad is a pianist and I played the piano for twelve years and tenor saxophone for eight. Typically I’d write these songs about boys on the piano, for it was difficult to translate the twenty-something angst through the breathy wail of a tenor saxophone hanging around my neck.
During this time I also kept a journal equipped with stickers, pasted in Tom Ford ads, doodles of a cartoon girl who looked like me, and these lyrics I wrote about boys. Cleaning my bedroom last night, I came across my old journals and discovered that I wrote all of this teenage tripe THREE years ago when I was 24. I must have forgotten that when I was 15, I only wrote songs about dinosaurs and David Bowie.
I’m going to share some of these embarrassing lyrics/non-poems with you today because, well, they need to be quietly judged. Enjoy.
Do you have poems/lyrics that you wrote when you were younger? Do you cringe, like I do, when you read them?
This song was about a boy I dated who thought he was the reincarnation of James Joyce. He lived in a cabin in the mountains of Los Angeles and wore a three-piece wool suit every day…and I thought he was the coolest f’ing dude on the planet.
A little girl of fantasy
and wounded needs
A little boy with exploding heart
and angry dreams
And maybe I’ve been ready forever
since the summer
did I see it coming
we had nothing
to hold onto except for make believe
We were built off of nothing
except for the comfort
of lying next to you
A structure made of straws
that we clutched at
and fought with
then burned it to the ground
As I watched you slip away from me
we couldn’t agree
that you were gently
trying to say goodbye
despite all my might
to believe the fantasy
Old Bowling Alleys
I think this is when I listened to way too much of Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible.
I’m taking the Airstream
to Barstow tonight
I know once I get there
it will all be alright
The smell of your scotch
lingers on the windowsill
God, I know good things are coming
Yes, I know that they will
And you promised that God would save me alright
If I got down on my knees and prayed every night
You’d look down at me with fire in your eyes
and I dreamed that he would come and wipe the tears dry
My hope is my salvation
far away from your hand
The highway is my walk into the promise land
And when I get there I’ll be thinking of you wondering where the hell I am