One day I discovered I had a talent for writing. I don't exactly remember how old I was, but still a child. I found refuge in many things that most children do not. I made casual conversation with adults, read a lot, and avoided with all my might, the essence of boredom. I was always doing something.
My parents always knew that I was a talented child, and although I did quite well in school, I was never seen as "gifted". I suppose it was all about grades, and I was never one to measure success by a single score. I deffinitly walked to the beat of a different drummer, and in quoting Thoreau, I would have to say that he was one of the philosophers that helped me get through high school mostly unscathed. I'm not saying that I was a loner, I had friends, pretty good ones, and least for a while. I noticed towards the winding months of my senior year that I was very different. I'd always know that I was a litle odd, but it finally occured to me what my problem was. I have been forty since I was twelve.
Everyone would always comment on my maturity...and I would murmer some form of thank you, pretend that their acceptance really mattered to me, and then go along my way to discover something I had yet to know. My parents called it inquisitive. My relatives called it curiosity. I called it my search for understanding. I always wondered why. Why the world worked the way it did, why we were here, and why things happened the way that they did. If an answer wasn't acceptable to me, I would either continue to rephrase my question, or give up on the "adult" species and find my own satisfactory solution.
This caused much frustration with the "adults" and sometimes they didn't know how to deal with me, but that didn't really matter. I've basically been taking care of myself since I was able to walk. I never really depended on anyone. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not. That's not really for me to decide.
So getting back to my life, I realized that I wanted to write. Not just for fun anymore, but because I needed to, because my soul yearned to express itself. Thus I began my journey to the wonderful would of poetry.
I found it easy to write at first, each rhyme scheme followed the meter of the next, but I became bored with myself. I began to adopt new techniques and finally found something that really worked for me...Freeverse. I found it much easier to explain myself, and paint a beautiful picture with the words I had, without worrying about what sounded good with what.
Many years I have worked on my writing. In this website, I have what I consider a collection of my personal best. I think it shows part of me, at least in essence, to the reader. I hope that at least someone takes the time to read this. If it doesn't move you, don't worry, I don't even expect you to understand it all. After all, it's from my heart, you couldn't possibly see what I'm feeling. But, if it just entices you to think a little bit, maybe reexamne your world, then I have served my purpose in life.
As someone once said...
...Reexamine what you have been told...dismiss that which insults your soul.
With that being said...I'll leave you for now. Feel free to look around, stop and think, or simply move on. The choice is always up to you.
My hair smells of the wind
And is full of constellations
And I move about this world
With a healthy disbelief
And I go about my days
And my work
With a vaporous consequence
A touch that is translucent
But can violate stone
~Jewel
