Where I Go

I hide behind the notes,

And look towards them for guidance.

When times are rough and broken,

They are there to mend.

Because the notes that come from my guitar,

Speak louder than the words from my mouth.

I hide behind them.

They mask what I have to say,

And give me reasurance.

Eight years have gone by since I began,

And in my time of need,

I am able to show exactly what I mean.

For me, guitar isn't a hobby.

My guitar is what makes me breath.