Letting Life Lead
I was digging round some old files that were penned back before blogs were born when I was a teenager and newly in my twenties. A lot of them were terribly, terribly, horridly, wickedly awful. I am seriously considering doing a series entitled Terrible Teen Poetry And Other Directionless Stories because they are so bad I might as well laugh at myself to take the sting out! Is anyone out there interested in laughing at a hopelessly romantic Emo teen before there was any such thing a Emo?
I’ll tell you what. If I get twenty likes on this post, I will totally bear my old, teenage soul to you.
Among the fodder and corrupt files was a little poem I wrote much later and to my surprise I liked it. Really liked it. It might even be good. The problem was is that I usually sign all my work and this one is only dated. I assume it is mine and not sent to me for three reasons: 1. It is dated even if my initials weren’t placed after it 2. It is titled the name of a very old, dear friend (I took two buses and a train to get to her wedding) 3. She assures me that she didn’t write it.
I may have penned it after an all night gaming session we were having which is why my memory is very fuzzy. She was so tickled that a poem was written and inspired by her back in our lost thirties that I felt compelled to share it.
writing, traveling, and tap dancing around town.
Made on Mars.
The place where all the things I write live
Writer and procrastinator
Warden of Words // Shaper of Stories
Bewitching Journey of Words to Meaning
This is the story of building a cottage , the people and the place. Its a reminder of hope and love.
The 24 hour Writing Hotspot and Hang Out
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV