reaching out
My muse came from cassettes
In a walkman
On a school bus
While the world passed
Sunlight rode waves across my red notebook
Sometimes catching my pen
Scrawling crimson ink furiously
across hungry lined paper.
I was alone then
Not like now
But I didn't know that then.
And, I think it matters
To remember
Being alone.
To write about those lost moments
Scrawling misshaped ideas
That held promises
That held me
The struggling aspects that fought
For some medium to breathe
I was alone then
But I'm not anymore.