When I was young, I fancied myself a writer.
First grade: thick, black,
well-gnawed pencil, 2-finger space between words writer. Vegetables talking. Mom liked it.
College: poetry and journals. Self-portrait collages.
I wrote words; am I a Writer?
I rhymed; am I a Poet?
I rhymed; am I a Poet?
Had I voiced my thoughts, would anyone have listened?
Who listens?
Who cares?
Is it for me, or thee, or a tree?
(c) 5-17-10 Dancingthots
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comments! It is possible to follow this post. Just scroll around until you find the button. Thanks!