If I could make a living doing what I love the most,
I would write a million songs and then I’d raise a toast.
The toast would be to everyone who makes me feel so blessed,
to writing, and to music, and to getting problems off my chest.
There truly is no better way for me to get rid of all my stress,
then for me to write a song or two when I start to feel depressed.
Some people like to talk or walk, to get their feelings out,
but for me, those things never worked as well as writing lyrics down.
When life begins to get too hard and I feel like it’s too much,
I grab my mac, put my headphones on, and start to get in touch,
with the little boy I used to be who wrote poetry all the time,
until the kids at school called it gay and he quit before grade nine.
So I went for six years or so forgetting I could write,
while my problems grew and grew and I bottled them up inside.
They grew until one lonely night my bottle overflowed,
sitting with my wrist against a knife downstairs all alone.
I sat there thinking deeply questions rattling through my head,
until I thought back, six years ago, how I’d have a pen instead.
Now teaching kids just like me is what I’d love the most,
to keep writing songs and poetry, so their lives can stay composed.