What do you want to be, they ask me.
I shake my head and shrug my tiny little shoulders
bent harshly at wrong angles
under the weight of constant interrogations
of what lies ahead,
what dreams I chase when i’m awake;
they suck the hope from my soul,
burned-out, just wanting to fade away.
If i’m gone in the morning,
it was finally time to disappear,
dissloving under the saturation of expectations
from everyone but myself
It’s a strange thing,
the way they crave to inject
their hopes and dreams into my bloodstream,
in hopes I get addicted to their “motivational” chatterings
but instead i sit,
letting the music wash over me,
cleansing me of their excessive needs.
what do you want to be, they ask me,
and this i smile, a big-toothed reply;
“I want to be a song,
mending the hearts of the clueless.
I want to be the words that lift them
and never let them fall,
I want to be the one to convince them to hold on,
listening to my voice at three a.m."
they stare, astounded, and nod,
listening to the words of my songs.