I can disappear into my own world,
As simple glances and casual rehearsed conversations become my facts.
The not knowing when the last time I felt free of debt
just to know tonight I am free of regret in what I write
I find purpose to keep writing….
if nothing else shall appear,
I know I continued another day of trying to make it make sense on a page.
I do not often censor,
or edit what I write in a drunken or the rare sober haze.
For a more pristine picture of a contemporary writer or this world,
Please look elsewhere and not to my life and works.
A big neon sign will meet you at every sentence ending period that states,
“Fuck you very much”
and that means go onward with your sycophantic life and opinions of what my writing should have said.
I feel free and able minded enough to keep writing.
Preachy as I may seem, story-less as my words may be, as I alone search for a truth beyond what you think I need to define, I find my true voice.
Every wink of my eye and wrinkle of my brow coerce the words to become my testament of why I write.
I do not find much in this world worth doing or living for except this……so pardon me if I do not bend over and ignore the attempts to correct what I cherish.
I am attempting to be original and not what you have studied.
Words are my Walden Pond and I am swimming naked in them
Words are the world under my thumb
Words are the moon to stare at and
Words are to be in Awe of
Words are to be