They keep on telling me that I’ve got what it takes
Whatever you say
It’s just me, my laptop
So all I can do is write
Pray that these words will finally start to find their own way
That things turn out alright
They may, they may not
I’m all too prepared to give this literary thing one hell of a shot
Some people don’t take to it
All too ready to forsake my rhyme
Telling me that it might be time to throw in the towel
“It ain’t your thing, Brian”
I’m beginning to enjoy the writing part
Appreciating it for what it is… fine art?
I’d still like to hear a girl sing my lyrics
With a great backing beat
An infectious song that guarantees to have everyone & their mother shuffling their feet
So on I go
With my pen – it’s not a pen
It’s a laptop
But there you have it – at the ready
Controlling my ship ’til it is steady
I’m all too equipped to steer it in the right direction
Take it on home
Where one day all of you will get to say
That’s the fella who wrote this/that great poem