Around Here Somewhere

I may have been an actor in another life, 

a painter perhaps, or a poet

There is a deep and unexplored desire in me 

to create, express, emote

It gets caught between heart and throat

stopped every time.  

There is a child, not allowed to play

kept locked away in the chokey of my soul

Don’t you fucking move, kid

Don’t. You. Fucking. Move. 

You’ll get hurt; so just stay still, don’t even breathe

you must not been heard, or seen

We may never meet

I was about to say I don’t come from a creative people 

but then I remembered my grandpa Len 

who spent hours on end in his workshop 

making treasures out of scrap wood

He was businessman, but he had artist hands and an artist soul

Gramp just went out there and let it flow

He engraved his name on the things he made

Sure some of it he gave away, but it was all for him

his pleasure, his own private joy

Perhaps artistic freedom skips a generation

just look at my two kids

He drums, dances, sings and lives to perform 

and she has a world all her own where she runs free and dreams

every once in a while she gives us a little peek

and it’s beautiful

Hang in there, kid

you’ll soon be free

I didn’t build the chokey, I misplaced the key

It’s hard to find something

when you can’t remember 

where you were when you last had it

but I’m looking, and it’s around here somewhere

I know it