I Express Myself Through Writing
As Kris awoke alone in a broke down Port Arthur Texas motel room , he reached for his first morning cigarette and cussed the sunlight coming through those damn cheap window blinds. Counting the last of his remaining change to go out and buy another pack of cigs, last nights memories comes slowly in through the whiskey inspired fog in his head. Trying to remember the rhythm he had put down to words the night before. Damn songwriting was going to kill him years before he ever make it.
Walking out the front door and facing the world as only a sober man can ,he comes to understand old country songs and the way he felt about Sunday mornings. Dressed in a old white t shirt and his favorite stressed blue jeans with a pair of cowboy boots ,he walks pass a church with its doors open. Stopping to take to fill his lungs full of the cool October winter air,thoughts of sinful and unforgiving deceit makes him wonder if there is a seat for him inside that church. With a slow and unsteady step his old cowboy boots lead him into through the door all the way to the last row. The songs that choir sang could have easily sung by a group of Gods angels. The preachers words from the Bible seemed to be directed only to the last row. Words of sinning, lying and drunken lonesomeness all was aimed right at him.
Leaving that church made him feel better about himself and gave way to thinking of the possibility of a new way to get by. With a new found belief , he reaches the store and goes in to get the cigarettes. As he paying at the cashier , inside walks a curly red haired beauty that gave him a sweet smile and simple hello. Good morning is what he said , at least that was the words he wanted come out his mouth although the beat from his heart was to loud to hear what was actually said. She gave a small laugh and said yes good morning to you to.
Lighting her cigarette and watching as the smoke came out from her lips he thought to himself she looked just like a free spirited gypsy with no cares. Along with the curly red hair , resting on her head was over sized sunglasses. She wore tie dyed over sized shirts with bell bottom jeans that made her look like ether the most stylish person or a down and out hippie. She sad her name was Maggie May and that this town was too small for her, the west coast would serve her better. Softly as they walked along a old cracked sidewalk , she sang songs of freedom and heartbreak.
With the motion of the day coming more alive he could only focus all of his attention towards her. The way she would talk about love and having a free spirt gave him thoughts of another time and place. As she blew out the last of her remaining smoke , she told him she had waited so long to have that feeling again.
They came to a town park where a few people sat . Sharing stories of their life and watching kids running around the park as the air fills with their screams and innocent laughter. In a small way it seems strange to him that as Maggie passed through the crowds no one seems to notice her. They sit on a bench as she smiles and tells him the good times she had here , telling him stories of getting high with friends and playing music with her old guitar. Her stories go deeper the further along she goes. Words of a quiet lonesome feeling that would seemed to fill inside her like the air from a helium ballon. Looking at him through her big brown eyes she tells of fame and all the high priced guilt.
Easy as the sun had come up that morning it began to go down. Funny he thought it didn’t seem like a whole day had came and went that fast. Guessing somehow he lost track of time from listening to her. She stands up and stretches , says well man it’s time for me to go. I need to get to New Orleans I’m playing a gig tonight with some and old friend of mine named Bobbie. Right before she goes as she pulls her sunglasses down , she smiles and says remember man the words can’t be found on a piece of paper, they are already there just need to look inside. With a peace sign and smile she walked away as the words of Me and Bobbie McGee filled the air.
Getting back to his hotel room Kris , opened up those window blinds and sat down to write. Looking inside himself he found a poet and remembering the words Maggie May’s ghost sang ,he wrote about her and the friend she had spoken of.
Few years later Kris would meet up with another curly red haired free spirt named Janis Joplin , who had a voice that was as powerful as the gypsy spirt she sang about. She would sing his song about Maggie May and her friend named Bobbie McGee.
Walking out the front door and facing the world as only a sober man can ,he comes to understand old country songs and the way he felt about Sunday mornings. Dressed in a old white t shirt and his favorite stressed blue jeans with a pair of cowboy boots ,he walks pass a church with its doors open. Stopping to take to fill his lungs full of the cool October winter air,thoughts of sinful and unforgiving deceit makes him wonder if there is a seat for him inside that church. With a slow and unsteady step his old cowboy boots lead him into through the door all the way to the last row. The songs that choir sang could have easily sung by a group of Gods angels. The preachers words from the Bible seemed to be directed only to the last row. Words of sinning, lying and drunken lonesomeness all was aimed right at him.
Leaving that church made him feel better about himself and gave way to thinking of the possibility of a new way to get by. With a new found belief , he reaches the store and goes in to get the cigarettes. As he paying at the cashier , inside walks a curly red haired beauty that gave him a sweet smile and simple hello. Good morning is what he said , at least that was the words he wanted come out his mouth although the beat from his heart was to loud to hear what was actually said. She gave a small laugh and said yes good morning to you to.
Lighting her cigarette and watching as the smoke came out from her lips he thought to himself she looked just like a free spirited gypsy with no cares. Along with the curly red hair , resting on her head was over sized sunglasses. She wore tie dyed over sized shirts with bell bottom jeans that made her look like ether the most stylish person or a down and out hippie. She sad her name was Maggie May and that this town was too small for her, the west coast would serve her better. Softly as they walked along a old cracked sidewalk , she sang songs of freedom and heartbreak.
With the motion of the day coming more alive he could only focus all of his attention towards her. The way she would talk about love and having a free spirt gave him thoughts of another time and place. As she blew out the last of her remaining smoke , she told him she had waited so long to have that feeling again.
They came to a town park where a few people sat . Sharing stories of their life and watching kids running around the park as the air fills with their screams and innocent laughter. In a small way it seems strange to him that as Maggie passed through the crowds no one seems to notice her. They sit on a bench as she smiles and tells him the good times she had here , telling him stories of getting high with friends and playing music with her old guitar. Her stories go deeper the further along she goes. Words of a quiet lonesome feeling that would seemed to fill inside her like the air from a helium ballon. Looking at him through her big brown eyes she tells of fame and all the high priced guilt.
Easy as the sun had come up that morning it began to go down. Funny he thought it didn’t seem like a whole day had came and went that fast. Guessing somehow he lost track of time from listening to her. She stands up and stretches , says well man it’s time for me to go. I need to get to New Orleans I’m playing a gig tonight with some and old friend of mine named Bobbie. Right before she goes as she pulls her sunglasses down , she smiles and says remember man the words can’t be found on a piece of paper, they are already there just need to look inside. With a peace sign and smile she walked away as the words of Me and Bobbie McGee filled the air.
Getting back to his hotel room Kris , opened up those window blinds and sat down to write. Looking inside himself he found a poet and remembering the words Maggie May’s ghost sang ,he wrote about her and the friend she had spoken of.
Few years later Kris would meet up with another curly red haired free spirt named Janis Joplin , who had a voice that was as powerful as the gypsy spirt she sang about. She would sing his song about Maggie May and her friend named Bobbie McGee.
46-50, M
