This weekend I’ve been writing love poems
I’ve not practised music yet, not at all
It’s strange how inspiration has its whims
Am I a writer, or more musical?
I’m still not sure which is my favourite ball
When juggling them all round before my eyes
But often all I need is approval
To lift my confidence with each of these
Right now I’m not sure where my music lies
Have I dropped that ball? Certainly it spins
Crazily sometimes, and I lose control
Like Wednesday night, when to my sad surprise
I struggled with my very own rhythms
And now they must be caught before they fall
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