Can’t tell the big stories.
Don’t have the skill.
Don’t know how.
… I’m afraid I’ll miraculously be able to do it,
just once,
and they’ll expect me to do it again,
and all I’ll have had in me is the just once.

Can’t sing the big songs.
Good enough for me.
Good enough for the radio, and the car, and the kids.
… I know I can put my heart into it,
and still not be good enough,
or at least not as good as those other people.

Ain’t gonna be famous.
Don’t really want to work that hard.
I’ve seen what other people have to do,
and I don’t have the time.
… I read all this talk about “you’ve got to need it to succeed at it,”
and what’s enough?
Nobody ever tells you what’s enough,
so I guess if I don’t know,
it’s not enough.

So, dribs and drabs.
Dabble, and call it a hobby,
and never expect it to amount to much but amusement
for maybe a few people.
Don’t wonder if you’re settling.
Don’t question it, or it’ll hide,
maybe forever.
And don’t be disappointed.
At least you’ve got something.

Little stories need someone to tell them, too.


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