I wrote on the last page of my journal today. The first entry was dated October 19, 2014. It’s a thick notebook, but shouldn’t have held two years’ worth of a writer’s entries. I’ve just written so little over the past two years that it all fit in this one book.
Earlier this week, I took note of all the prior entries. I commented to my co-writer that I’d pretty much written only sad and pitiful lyrics and poems. I couldn’t find a single page on which I’d written happy words.
This last entry today is quite fitting for such a joy-less journal. What started out two years ago with an ode to other musicians ends today with determination to be who I’m meant to be:
This One Life
I once met Convenience and Fear
Two skilled and mouthy menaces
They hide and chatter in my ear
Bitter and broken words of a nemesis
The old fools try to keep me stuck
Telling me to stay in my comfort zone
Never do they suggest I try my luck
Or venture out on my own
They stalk my soul like a woman scorned
Bound to make me cave and comply
They threaten, scold and warn
There are consequences if I defy
But I’ll be damned if they conquer me
I must explore the mysterious magic
My spirit demands to be free
Or else this one life will be tragic
