You were a gift, and I was young,
and I didn’t pay you much heed until the world shut down.
I’ll never know what possessed me that day,
to pick you up and sit on my parents’ bed and write
a story in rhyme about the crushing weight of fame.
The crushing weight of fame! And I wasn’t even on that path yet.
One song led to another, and another,
and you were always there, as I took lessons, as I taught myself,
as I learned the barre chords that were so hard at first,
as we became a team
and you became my destiny.
Our greatest moment will always be that road trip,
2022, Mom was driving, you were in the backseat,
thirteen states, dozens of cities,
seven nights, five songs,
a record we didn’t break until last November.
Then we made the trip together,
down I-65 to Nashville,
where people like me take things like you
to fly or fall in front of the world.
I wondered many nights
if there were more like me or like you in this city.
I think you:
strings are replaceable,
dreams aren’t,
no matter what the labels try to convince everyone.
Like Taylor Swift, you’ve soaked up my teardrops,
only I don’t cry about boys,
but about my own fears.
Will we make it? Are we good enough,
and if we are, will we have to lose everything on the way?
But I’ll have you. I’ll always have you,
and as long as I have you,
I have my songs, and maybe that’s enough.