Grey Watercolor Skies

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Adam Cedar

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I was born in Bristol Indiana, 1989
I don't remember that town at all but that's where I got this name of mine
I grew up on books, mistakes, knee scrapes and tree climbing
In a sunken island, in Utah, I was shy but never realized it
Would turn into a dragon, keeping me inside my walls at all times
I used to hide when we had company, but didn't recognize the fault lines
Then again what's fine for a child isn't always for a grown man
I kept each monster on a short leash, as many as I could hold in
I used to have blond curls, when I was younger, only knee high
Mom says all along I've had the same big brown eyes
A tempest inside each pupil swallowed by a hungry night sky
A solar eclipse that only hints of amber light on the outside
Strangely solemn and serious, even since I was a young age
My parents read me books, I was sure I'd be a great writer one day
The only thing that came quicker was my impulse to run away
From anything that might expose me, like film to a sunray
As I grew, so did my personal mythology, I always knew
I had something important to do, if I could only follow through
Me and my friends would play games of make believe
So I built fantasies when problems came to make them leave
My first day, of school was second grade, quite exciting
I still remember being called on, the fear striking like lightning
I was bright then, but worked slow as cold molasses
Had trouble seeing the sense in school, even after I was fit with glasses
Years past as they do, I grew and I grew
Dropping in and out of school taking odd jobs, with people I knew
Teen years, rebellion, mohawk, destruction of property
Disgusted with country that ate war and shit poverty
Insomnia, procrastination, anxiety, depression
I built a little lost city out of all of my broken lessons
Fear and doubt became the cell that I slept in
I was introduced to poetry and started writing confessions
The burnt rubber smell of Armageddon, or of empire ending
The taste of loneliness, the weight of a sentence
Feeling dragged through the crush and the exhaust
Hoping for some great escape, I guess I found hip-hop
Never mind I didn't know the first this about rhythm or song writing
It painted the walls of the cell where I had spent so long hiding
Plus I was destined to write, burn bright, and inspire
Problem was not being a person that I could admire
Each setback damn near broke my young heart open
Forgetting that true love and wisdom aren't spoken
I had to learn the art of stained glass romance and start over
And out come the wolves of doubt, smelling that hearts odor
I'd think – I'm wasting my time, I'm not good enough for it
Or I'd think – no one will understand me, they'll ignore it
Which ran in contradiction to my fire and conviction
Moods swung like a pendulum, more was thought then was written
As more years were swallowed by times greedy maw
Me searching for purpose, for peace, for cause
Always waiting impatient for meaning to bloom
I moved out to Portland to a shoe box sized room
Hoping to find truth in the rubble of the struggle I lived
If truth be told, I think I was in trouble and running again
The perfect getaway right? nothing to float me there but my art
Fulfilling a dream, sink or swim in a tank full of live sharks
A change of scenery found me catatonic, frozen with fear
Never heard that in cities things are never as close as they appear
Shoulder to shoulder with strangers some of my loneliest years
Long walks under grey watercolor skies that shed tears
No blame in it, no glory, two years, two apartments, no job
Borrowing money from family, just to hold the cold off
Went hungry, lived drama, ended up homeless
Crashing in an RV as broke as me and the girl who owned it
Life charged me with change, trial by fire, judged flammable
Learned a little about being a man and a lot about being an animal
I lost lovers, lost time, wrote a few songs, a few poems
Traveled, unraveled, tied knots, grew, decomposed
But somewhere in the laughter, or the pause between breaths
I was starting ever so slowly to believe in myself
Simple unsung victories, held in the still quiet of my nature
I had strength enough if I'd but stop running and stay here
My own fire started burning brighter, as I made fuel of my ghosts
Melting the ice fear had place like rope 'round my throat
Decrystallization of everything that had held me in stasis
Done waiting, I'm going to make it like no but me can make it
No kings, my own hero, f*ck a cynical spin
A celebration of living daily, feeling good in my skin
Telling the story of the moment that a shy little kid
Met his challenges wide eyed, and didn't pretend

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