The Writer and The Composer [A work in progress]

Verse one [She looked at me, but she didn't see me]

It's not easy to be different. I mean, who ever thought it was right? You don't see a guy fidling with a pencil and a red leather notebook almost all the time and not call him a weirdo and to be honest it feels right to be one. I didn't belong here... everyone in this place made sure I got that but I didn't care. I've always been trying to prove them wrong. We moved to Chicago a couple of weeks back and right when we did I immediately locked myself in my standard "loner" mode with my earphones plugged into my brain. I'm not your average music lover though. I had weird phases.

When I was 9, Boa was my favorite. Her asian styled music videos with the dancing and the lack of English complexity in her lyrics. I'm not proud of myself about that but what can I say? I was 9 and uneducated from all the good music. Now I guess you can say I'm pretty standard. Although my parents always say, "why do you listen to that? it's so hateful" the only thing I ever think of replying to them is, "that's coz I am." Not by choice of course but I basically faded into being hateful. When your childhood bestfriend dies in a car crash at the age of 12, you kinda stick to thinking dark, sad thoughts. She didn't deserve to go that early, and I blamed myself for that.

In compensation, I began writing words. Just words, simple rhyming words always coming from my heart turned to stone. We used to kid around about growing up together and getting married then joining the U.S. Marines together. But that time is long gone. I started listening to better music a year after her accident. I promised her I would look for all the cool music there is to listen to if she had to go away (of course death wasn't what she meant yet death became of her) and I honored it.

"Don't let the ear wax gunk up in there!" Jackie would always say to me.

As I searched, I came across The Strokes, and for a time I stopped searching and became content with them for a while because they'd always get me in more than words can say (or sing in that matter) and I started to write more poems than usual. I picked out a pencil one day and started tapping to a beat, "Undercover of Darkness" by The Strokes, then I noticed a rectangular shaped object on my step dad's table made out of animal skin I had no idea of what origin but all I can say is that it was draped with the mysterious color red. Was it an old notebook owned by a herioc warrior that was once one color but after being in battle with a man of action was colored red by the blood of its master? or was it just some notebook mass produced to look cool or unisex like.

It just sat there on the desk, alone, seemingly unused which I had no doubt about since my step dad has no interest in leather things and he never leaves his desk with a misplaced object. He was what you can call a "control freak" and a "perfectionist" interms of cleanliness.

I realized I was thinking too much, I picked it up... then the song that was playing turned into something else... I felt something else... I felt Jackie touch my heart, she whispered, "Sing me to sleep" I couldn't make out the rest of the words she said. Like a dream I was lost in it all. The poems I wrote, I realized weren't what I needed to express my 4 years of grief. I needed to write and I did, like a mad dog running around in excitement because that was the day I realized my life isn't bad, it's just crooked. January 18, 2012... the day I began to write songs, for her.

I spent my first two weeks in my room, looking out the window beside my bed. I watched as the faces of the people who'd pass by come and go, fading into the white oblivion beyond, writing my silly little songs trying to explain their lives. One lady passed by with a sad look on her face, she was probably 5'5, a brunette, wearing leather pants and a jacket with a winter hat on. She kept her arms folded, looking rather sad as she shivered along the side walk then disappeared. She reminded me of myself when I lost Jackie. Then I heard my mom yell, "Lucas! Your dad and I are gonna go out for a walk. You should come too but we'll be out of your way, it's non negociable now get dressed in 5, we'll be waiting outside." I hated arguing with my mom but I had no plans of going out, not yet anyways since school doesn't start for another week. But I guess a walk around the park wouldn't hurt, "Okay mom! I'll be down in a bit!" I yelled loud enough for our next door neighbors to hear. I jumped up, grabbed my red leather jacket, wore my favorite pair of army boots and a pair of brown pants. Grabbed my notebook and pencil and scrambled for the stairs. I opened the door leading outside and saw my mom and my step dad waiting. "Could you lock the door sweetie?" my mom said before I let go of the door knob. I nodded in reply, took my key out and put it into the key hole. My hands were a little stiff because of the cold. I turned the key to lock the door, went down the porch stairs and passed my mom. I managed to whisper to her before we parted ways, "Not my dad... step dad" she looked at me in distress then turned around. I began walking around my neighborhood, kicking snow here and there, waiting for inspiration to come to me. I held my red notebook ready, opened to an empty page so that I don't miss opportunities to write down lyrics. New life, new city, new school, this was just all too much for me to cope with so I decided not to write about anything specific and decided to stick to life related songs until I start going to school. Those places are a breeding ground for drama and I take delight in writing about other peoples stories. I walked along the side walk, I looked left and right, seeing nothing but houses for blocks and blocks till I found a tiny island. I call it an island because it was just a small patch of soil and grass in the middle of an intersection. There was a big rock on it so I decided to sit on top of it and rest. I took a deep breath and watched as the air leaving my body turned into cold smoke. I looked at my notebook and saw nothing written on it, I was a bit disappointed but that wasn't stopping me. Then I caught something behind a fence across the street, it looked blurry in the snow and pale white sky but I could see hair. Blonde, it was a girl... I stared at her and she stared back. Despite the cold weather, I felt chills flow up the back of my neck. She looked so calm and sweet and she just stood there by the fence of the house across the street. "Hello? Are you looking at me?" I managed to say. She reacted like someone who had just woken up from a dream, flinching then instead of saying, "oh no I was looking at something else" to me, she decided

to run off, I guess I creeped her out. It's weird though, I'm not weirded out at all... it was almost as if I knew her and I had a strange wanting to go to her. "I guess it's just the cold haha better head home" I walked back, retracing my steps until I found my house, got lost a couple of times but managed to find my footprints from before. I unlocked the door and went straight to the shower. The water was nice and hot, I just stood there under the shower head. I felt weird, I couldn't stop thinking about that girl I saw earlier. I got dressed and stared at my self for while. I noticed how skinny I got too, I'm a skater and I played ball for a year... how in the world did I get this skinny? I shrugged the question off and mentally promised myself I'd work out before school starts. It's bad enough that I have a red notebook with me all the time but being scrawny won't help the name calling. "I need to be capable of defending myself" I said. After talking to myself I took my notebook and opened it to write one phrase as a starter, "She looked at me, but she didn't see me" I closed my notebook and checked the clock, it was 6:45pm... I guess a little nap wouldn't hurt right?

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What do you guys think? It's my first time writing and I hope it interests some of you :) please give me any feedback so I may improve it haha