Living Room Dance
I could have been a dancer
With the soul inside my feet
I twirled along to ‘Graceland’
My mama played it on repeat
Something in it’s rhythm
Kept me on my toes
Branched out through my fingers
Through my eyes and nose
But when you don’t get tall
And your limbs won’t bend
And you stretch and stretch and stretch
And then…
You’re muscles still won’t do
What your head ask’s them to
You know it has to end
I might have been a singer
With the tunes around my ears
Hearing all the melodies
Imagined through the years
Humming little diddies
With notes I couldn’t reach
And the words that went along
Weren’t words a person could teach
But my fingers wouldn’t play
An instrument in sight
I coULdn’t, COuldN’T read the music
All the up’s and down’s
And the Side to the side
So it never sounded right
I tried to be an artist
With charcoal, pen, and paint
Paper spread across the floor
Into the hours late
The brilliant sort of visions
I saw inside my mind
No one’s ever seen before
Not an artist you could find
But my hands are shaky
And the lines aren’t smooth
And the balance was wrong
The weight of the mixture
All of the texture
The color’s simply no good
And I can’t go back to ‘Graceland’
Or the songs I once made up
The poor attempts at painting
Or any of that stuff
But I’m sure there’s something out there
Something good that I can do
And until I find that something
I can just be good for you
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