Fearfully Created

I want to share YouTube channels that I follow on my website. I wrote this song with the intention of sharing it with the person who I wrote the song for in the first place. I was unsuccessful in contacting her, so I am sharing it here with you. I did rewrite the song and thought about posting it in my YouTube channel, but I don’t think I will. This song is something I want to share but I don’t want to put out into YouTube land just yet.

This song would be considered personal, and it may have the makings of being a song you could hear on the radio even though it was created with Suno AI. The radio is not a place for AI voices but a place for real people’s voices. I don’t know if there would be any musician out there that would like this song or not, but if you are that one person, contact me.

I did create a video for this song, but I can only share the audio and a picture for visuals.

Country living in the hills of Tennessee.

Fearfully Created

Welcome into her world, where the hills meet the sky,
Where love fills the rooms and dreams never die.
A simple kind of life, yet so beautifully made,
This is her story—Fearfully Created.

Her name is Merina, in the hills she resides,
East Tennessee mornings, where the sun opens wide.
In a double-wide mobile, with love in each room,
Her husband and four kids make her life bloom.

The laughter of children, the bark of a dog,
The morning dew shining through the Tennessee fog.
She’s not chasing perfection, just living with grace,
Finding purpose and joy in her sacred place.

Dogs at her feet, chickens roam in the yard,
Acres of freedom, though some days can be hard.
She turns her little world into a work of art,
With a camera in hand and a homemaker’s heart.

Fearfully created, her life’s on display,
Cooking, cleaning, and making it a brighter day.
Redecorating corners, making memories true,
In the heart of her home, there’s always something new.

Her kitchen’s her canvas, where flavors collide,
Homemade meals with love served on the side.
From sweeping the floors to painting the walls,
Her home tells a story in every hall.

Cooking, cleaning, making every day bright,
Turning small moments into treasures of light.
A life full of purpose, a joy celebrated,
This is her story, Fearfully Created.

So watch her journey, take a seat, stay awhile,
Through the lens of her life, she’ll make you smile.
Fearfully created, her story unfolds,
In the foothills of Tennessee, where her heart is whole.

This song and lyrics are copyrighted by Lisa Sanders.

Forgetful as Can Be

Forgetful as Can Be written by Lisa Sanders

[Intro]
I’m forgetful, forgetful as can be.
Lost my keys, but found my soul, mmm

[Verse 1]
Left my coffee on the counter, my phone’s still in the car
But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I remember who you are

I left my shoes out in the rain, my jacket by the door,

But darling, it’s all fine, ’cause you’re the one I’m living for.

[Chorus]
Oh, I’m forgetful, forgetful as can be,
Oh, I’m forgetful, but don’t forget about me.

I might miss a step, but I’m still who I should be,

But don’t you worry, don’t worry about little ol’ me.

[Verse 2]
Tried to make a list, but I lost my pen,

My thoughts keep drifting, then fade in again.

I left my sweater on my office chair
And I can’t remember why I even went there.

[Chorus]

Oh, I’m forgetful, forgetful as can be,
Oh, I’m forgetful, but don’t forget about me.

I might miss a step, but I’m still who I should be,

But don’t you worry, don’t worry about little ol’ me

[Verse 3]

If I leave the stove on, don’t blame me, but instead

Let me write you a story, about how to bake cornbread.

As the world gets blurrier, eyeglasses atop my head,

I hope this condition doesn’t cause me to see fiery red.

[Chorus]
Oh, I’m forgetful, forgetful as can be,
Oh, I’m forgetful, but don’t forget about me.

I might miss a step, but I’m still who I should be,

But don’t you worry, don’t worry about little ol’ me

[Outro]
Oh yeah, I’m forgetful, forgetful as can be,

I got sometimers, most of the time – you see.

Absentminded, scatterbrained, fuzzy, hazy, distracted

Spacey, mindless, ditsy, oblivious, preoccupied

A Dance with a Stranger

The flashing lights danced on the checkered floor, pulsating with every beat of the music. The rhythm coursed through my body as though I was part of the song. People flickered like colored ghosts—red, blue, purple, white, yellow—disappearing into darkness when the beat stopped. A new pulse ignited an uproar, shaking the crowd into a frenzy. Bright dots shimmered and darted across the incandescent floor squares, chasing the pounding rhythm.

Making my way through the dance floor to our table, I caught sight of him sitting at a crowded table, talking but watching me. I smiled slightly and veered left to join my party. My newlywed husband of three months was dancing in the middle of a group of women, throwing 70s-style moves that no one uses anymore. I smirked at his foolishness, lifted my drink from the table, and took a long sip.

“What are you drinking?” a voice yelled over my shoulder. Turning, I saw the man from the table—pink lips under a finely trimmed mustache.

“Sex on the beach,” I said, cheeks burning as he turned and walked toward the bar. His gait had an effortless charm. When he returned, he handed me a drink and sat beside me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Sex on the beach,” he said with a grin. His dark brown eyes met mine, framed by slightly curly black hair. Before I could ask his name, he leaned closer. “Wanna dance?” he asked as the music shifted.

We hit the dance floor, the groove fast and exhilarating. There was no need for touching; our steps spoke louder. I had to look up to see his face. His mustache curved downward at the edges, and his chin, slightly pointy, was softened by a hint of stubble. His uniform—a pressed navy blue shirt and straight-legged pants adorned with shiny brass—hinted at his military rank. His eyes never left mine. As the music slowed, he took my hands, pulling me closer. The couples around us clung together, swaying to the soft melody.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked.

“Carol,” I replied. “And yours?”

He tapped the name tag above his breast pocket. We danced until the music changed again, transitioning back to the high-energy beat. Time blurred as we moved together.

When the night ended, he walked me back to my seat. My husband approached, kissed my cheek, and the man disappeared into the crowd without a word.

As we left, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d met the man of my dreams—tall, dark, handsome, and in uniform. A stranger from out of town who, for one night, felt like destiny.

The next day, my girlfriend told me he’d returned to the nightclub and asked about me. His name, etched on his uniform, stayed with me, unforgettable. But I never acted on my impulses. That moment faded, like the music, leaving only a bittersweet memory of what could have been.

Safe Spaces

From my second-story window, I could see the old bag lady. She pushed her wobbly Harvest Foods shopping cart across the Eighth Street Bridge. She wobbled like the cart from an old hip injury and sang an inaudible song as the wheels squeaked. I could always tell when it was midnight because that’s when I’d hear the first sign of her approach from the south. Looking out my window, I could see the library that I had checked books out from last week, and a tall apartment building for retired people blocked my view of the state capital. When the dirty, gray-haired woman’s singing voice died away, I would get restless and felt the need to walk to the park a block away.
I might as well get up. I can’t sleep again tonight. I said to myself as the baby kicked inside of me. I wore the sleeveless, blue-striped dress my husband’s grandmother made for me. We couldn’t afford to go out and buy maternity clothes. We couldn’t afford anything better than a one-bedroom, roach-infested apartment in the downtown area. I grabbed my keys and slipped on my sandals with a broken strap. Might as well go to the park and soak my aching feet. I descended the twenty steps easily. I was six months pregnant and, at least, I could still see my toes.
At the bottom of the entranceway, a white aluminum door was my only protection from the bums who lived on the streets. I had my keys to unlock that thin door and the solid wooden door to our upstairs apartment, but safety was the last thing on my mind. I walked south to the corner where a beer/liquor/candy/cigarette store stood. I sure to miss the sweet smell of cigarette smoke. I thought as I saw the display ad for Marlboro. I quit smoking when I found out I was pregnant in March.
Our street was well lit, but the street going east and west was quiet and dark. At the 3rd house on the left, some people were sitting on their front porch. I assumed they were talking about me. I could feel goose bumps make my arm hairs stand on end. I walked faster until I passed by the cold brick house. I never felt safe until I reached that fountain. The red, yellow, and blue lights under the water made the fountain iridescent. The safe place had a low, five-brick-wide edge for me to sit on and to feel the sprinkling of stray water hit my face and legs. I slipped off my shoes and plunged my feet into the water. The icy water felt angelic on my tired ankles.
I wonder where my husband is tonight? I wonder if he even knows that I come here? I wonder if he even cares? This is my special place. This fountain takes away all my pain. It makes me feel that the only things that exist in life are the two of us. My baby kicks inside of me. I lay back on the hard, cold bricks that feel my frustration. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I relax to get away from my life.
To the east, a harvest moon like a big white ball in the sky hides behind a five-story building under construction that has ghost-like light shining through its big holes. A silver fence surrounds it and protects it from the park. A brown, haunting gazebo sits on empty barrels above the man-made, clear water pond. South of that, a high-foot bridge, with wire across the top so no one—two women and three teenage boys—can plummet to their deaths onto the busy freeway underneath. To the west of the safe place, 6th Street is lined with crack houses and stolen cars.
Sometimes, I would see red lights illuminating from a bedroom window or a drug deal going down on the street. If they looked my way, I would pretend I never saw a thing. I pulled my wet, wrinkled feet out of the water and slipped them into the old sandals. I walked east, toward 6th Street, and saw a group of men coming out of the shadows towards me. I turned north. I walked faster. When I reached the corner store, I heard a voice say, “We’ll get’r nex time.” I knew it was the nineties, but safety wasn’t important to me. All I cared about was getting away from the cramped apartment and finding a place where I could dream.