Since I began playing flute in the fourth grade, my mother has begged me to compose my own song and play it for her. Every birthday, holiday, even when family friends came to visit, she would have the audacity to say,
“Natalie, why don’t you bring out your flute and play some songs for us…”
In which she would proceed to tell everyone just how skilled I was, and how she didn’t understand where I go my musical gift from.
Soon after, I began to sing at my church — in front of people who were not my mother. Again, she begged me to do a song for her… sing… alone… my OWN song. It’s not the fact that I was nervous, but the fact that it required me to have to sit down and actually rhyme or tell a story. There eventually came a time where my mom began to use the whole “song” thing against me. She would ask what her presents would be and she would passively hint that she so badly wanted a song from her loving and kind daughter. I repeatedly told her I just couldn’t. I need the juices to flow through me and inspiration to fill my mind with ideas… and words… obviously.
The whole point of this nuisance is, well, I finally wrote a song. However, before anyone goes ripping at it, there is no background or hidden meaning. I had an idea and I stuck to it and worked for a week. I don’t know if I will ever be on the Billboard 100 but my mom better be proud of me.
I’m at the table looking at his eyes
Can’t tell the truth so I tell a lot of lies
Got no job I live with my mom
This date’s no good, it’s gonna be a bomb.
Whatever the fear, whatever the weather
I can always hide in my turtleneck sweater.
Cut the date short, we leave the cafe
Headed down the street, in my hands a latte
I don’t say a word and neither does he
I reach for his hand, he pulls a knife on me.
Whatever the fear, whatever the weather
I can always hide in my turtleneck sweater.
I take a step back, I turn to flee
He swings the blade, nicks the artery
I stop the blood ’til it’s regular
It wasn’t so bad, just nicked my jugular
Whatever the fear, whatever the weather
It always stops the blood, my turtleneck sweater.
Maybe, just maybe, I will try to write another song, or find an ending I am content with, but until then, I’ll be thinking of a melody for my flute solo… just give me eight years give or take.
P.S. What do you think of my album cover? Don’t know what vibe I was going for but definitely trying to get into that Poet-rapper type beat.