Singing His Song

A love poem. Details below in the author's note.

I’m singing his song.

I’ll be singing his song.

My lips are singing that song,

So why do I think this is wrong?

Yeah, my lips are singing

And the air from my lungs, like a

Sigh makes my voice start a-ringing 

Why do you blame it on me?

It’s my lips, my lungs, my face, 

My teacher that carry the music.

It’s not like I’m having your baby

(Besides, I’m too much of a lady).

I’m just singing that song;

Your song.

What’s the big deal?

It’s not like I’m a seal

And you’re the ringmaster.

I’m a sea lion woman

And no one can tell me otherwise

(Except Feist).

No, no, no, no, no, no!

It’s just fear;

A simple word,

A simple anagram for fare.

Food isn’t bad.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

I’m afraid that the one moment I have

To show what I’m made of

Will just reveal

Cracked vocal chords,

Notes sung off-key,

Wobbling words,

A rushed rhythm, racing to 

Finish the song,

Incompetence,

Failure,

And it’s all on purpose.

I don’t want to sing your song;

At least not well.

I don’t want to sing that song of yours;

The one you know you’d ask me to sing.

I don’t,

And I probably shouldn’t,

But I will.

If you want me to.

Author's Note

Written April 28, 2008, while I was in high school.  Someone asked me to perform (sing) a song he had written for music class.  I had a crush on him and, in my utter shyness and awkwardness, I found the entire situation uncomfortable and stressful.  It seems a bit whiny in retrospect.