My music has a gray and gritty sound,
Not like your slick, sweet songs.
I dance to music that sounds like
The making-do with whatever we could find
And the dreams we had
That weren’t even big or beautiful -
Better than this.
Better than us.
Better than the gray and gritty noises
That rocked us in our cradles
That followed us to school
As we walked there alone, chilled and worried;
That comforted us in the wake of screaming,
And plates breaking,
And maternal tears.
The rhythm of life isn’t always lovely.
Not for everyone.
That’s why we listen to
Music that could be