or when the book was left open,
the ink still drying.
it wasn't perfect, but it was mine.
but now my verse is dressed in someone else's fashion.
cropped here, and polished there.
i could cry my heart out, if it didn't seem so silly.
it's happened so many times now,
you'd think i'd be over it by now.
it just sounds so much better in someone else's voice.
as if the feelings i had, are reborn in another life.
a much stronger, more intelligible voice, in a celebrity life.
the others sing along, mouthing the words with intent and faith,
they don't know, but their minds were read too.
i know mine was.
i just wish it had been me first.
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