For a season I live by the lie we call love—
A temporary insanity I held onto
Yet I knew nothing would last forever.
I don’t have time to waste time on it anymore.
My guitar is more important.
I wore a wooden cross on my *right* earring
Hoping it would bring me luck—or something like that.
Though objects can change nothing
I took my guitar with me everywhere.
Playing as often as I took a breath.
Getting some attention might do me some justice.
But I stopped when I learned
Everyone was walking away
And I lie to everyone
Telling them everything is wrong.
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Oh don't say that. At least you can write poems...when it comes to poetry, I suck.
Yeah. I realized that after I wrote it. But I don't know where or what to add! Agh! I'm so pitiful.
It's interesting, but you don't describe your story enough. No, I don't mean using pretentious words *shudders* but I read this poem and I wonder, "Huh?" Now, of course, this may be because I'm a little bit obtuse when it comes down to poetry, but it seems l9ike you can expand more on this poem and make it sound better.
That was a very helpful comment, Brad.
I've long suspected guitarists are liars...