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.
There's comedic gold behind every painful experience. Here are mine.
playing by my own rules
We take the heat 'cause we gotta eat.
Liz's home for all things writing related.
I have no idea why I picked this blog name, but there's no turning back now
"Our subject isn't cool, but [s]he fakes it anyway."- The Offspring