What Do You Mean I Can't Sing?!





What I would act like on stage

Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a singer in a rock and roll band. I wanted to play the guitar. I wanted to be on stage impressing my millions of fans with my ability to both sing and play, maybe more then one instrument, maybe the guitar and the drums, better then anyone. Of course I never did one thing to try and accomplish that goal. I figured my chances of doing so were pretty much zero to none, so I didn't even try. I figured I'd be a whole lot better at it in my head then in real life. But this didn't stop me from singing. When I was a kid, I'd make up songs and sing them in the back of my folks pickup, my "stage".  I remember being very dramatic about it. I wonder if anyone was watching me? I hope not.

I still do it, not act like an idiot in the back of a pickup, but make up songs. I can sing anything. You name it I have a song for it. For some reason, just about anything a person say to me or around me, makes me think of a song.

me totally cool playing the guitar

The truly sad thing is, no one appreciates it. All day long people are yelling at me, "Roxanna, is that you singing?" "Roxanna are you humming?" "Roxanna please shut up." "Roxanna please don't start." "Roxanna you have many talents, but singing isn't one of them."

me even cooler playing the drums

You can imagine how crushing that would be to my self esteem. I mean really, how many people can do that? Just think up a song out of mid-air? Sometimes the songs I sing are real songs, like if someone said, "I love to dance." I'd sing, "I could have danced all night..." I don't make up all of them, just most. Mainly because I don't know all the words to the song, so I make up the rest. I think that's rather clever, don't you?

Like if someone said, "I'll never get all this work done!" I'd sing, "I can't get this work done, but I don't care, because I have such pretty hair."
Now who wouldn't love that? An artist is never appreciated in his own town.

I write poems too. I wrote one about the accident when I lost my glasses and Connie her wig. It was called, "The Blind and The Bald".

Here is a poem I wrote about one of the hurricanes we had here in Florida.
                                               

 Ode to Fay

Oh Fay, Oh Fay,

What can I say.

Should you come,

Or stay away?

stupid people out in the hurricane

Your swirly whirlies in the sky,

Help us Lord!! WE’ER GOING TO DIE!!

Around and around you go,

Through the ocean to and fro.

One moment you’re in Aruba,

The next,  blowing over Cuba.

On a path toward Florida State,

I’m glad a ONE is all you rate.

The rain it has already begun,

I do not think this will be fun.

If we get off work, now that might be nice,

they wouldn't have to tell me twice!

I’ll pack up my survival kit ,

I’ll call some friends and then we’ll sit.

And eat our cookies and potato chips,

Listen to the weatherman for tips.

None of us we will do what he said.

It won’t matter ‘cause we’ll all be dead!

So Fay, Fay what can I say,

If you do come, please don’t stay.

Just blow right through, take an hour,

But please, please don't take our power.

Please just go and don’t come back.

I’ll even come and help you pack.

            the end



me doing a reading



              

Now is that talent or what? Just imagine that as a song!  But I'll not be deterred! I will carry on with my quest to sing about everything I hear. I can't help it. It's just in me.

And if you don't like it,

I don't care.

I'll do it anyway,

So there.

The End