i created this so i would create better

Blue

All I Want

The sky bleeds red as the sun slips away (1)

[Verse 1]

I kept a list of storms
tucked inside my jacket sleeve,
small tempests no one noticed,
just the kind that make you leave.
And every mile behind me
felt heavier than it should,
like I carried all the versions
of the man they said I “could.”

[Chorus]

Don’t ask me if I’m healing,
healing never answers back.
I’m learning how to walk again
on roads I once believed would crack.
And in the quiet after rain,
I hear the truth I never claimed:
that even broken ground
still grows something.

[Verse 2]

I lost my name a few times
in the echo of old fights,
traded pieces of my dignity
just to make it through the nights.
But the shadows I kept feeding
finally learned to speak aloud,
and they told me I was standing
in the wrong part of the crowd.

[Chorus]

Don’t ask me if I’m healing,
I’m tired of proving that I try.
I’m standing in the open now,
letting all the softness dry.
And in the quiet after rain,
I hear the steps I never made,
and maybe that’s enough
to keep me breathing.

[Bridge]

If forgiveness has a shape,
it’s the outline of my fear,
shrinking slowly,
year by year.

[Final Chorus]

So don’t wait for me to tell you
I’ve arrived where I belong.
I’m stitching up the silence
into something almost strong.
And in the quiet after rain,
I’ll bruise and bloom again,
because even fractured hearts
keep beating.

The Quiet That Follows Rain

Hold My Hand is a song about generational love — the kind that begins when a mother holds her baby’s hand, continues as that child grows, and eventually turns full circle when the child becomes the one offering comfort and care.

It’s about how love shifts roles but never disappears, how holding on becomes letting go, and how the same hands that once guided us may one day be guided back.

This song is a quiet tribute to parents, children, and the love that moves forward through generations.

Hold My Hand

Album II

Motel Blues

The Return of The Durutti Column

Sketch for Summer

The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do

Cactus Tree

Joni Mitchell

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