Day 144

I never liked writing before.

It was just something I could do,

write papers and e-mails,

with perfect grammar,

and punctuation.

Trained from an early age,

by my patient father,

a middle school English teacher.

I helped him correct 8th grade spelling tests,

at our cramped kitchen table,

warm next to the kerosene heater,

since the furnace never worked.

But I never liked writing.

The words were lacking,

the letters clumsy,

couldn’t match the nuances

of a world so intense.

But suddenly,

something has happened to me.

Some strange floodgate has opened,

and words are pouring forth

like wild things,


And I’m hungry for them now,

feverish for the right description,

desperate to express myself

in a way that makes sense.

Each noun and verb,

a thing of beauty,

a small offering,

to something much greater than me.

Thank you for listening,




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