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.
Leave your fear of the dark at the door, suspend your disbelief and come on in...
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.
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV
Pen to paper