Being a writer doesn’t mean
you need to write about rainbows and pretty things
Nah, there’s a lot of anger and there’s nothing wrong with that
there’s nothing wrong with any of it
The envious horizon of the gorgeous sunset
It’s not about right, or wrong, it just is
Sometimes I can’t tell if I can see better with my eyes open or closed
Sometimes you meet people who change your life
other times it’s just your mirror
Gavin practiced riding on his school bus today. He may be the youngest in his class. He’s still three, although turns four soon; it’s an incredible feeling to watch your three year old standing in line with students and teachers waiting to board a school bus.
My pre-k days were half-days. His will be full days. I didn’t jump onto a bus. Times are certainly changing and I admire the attention this district is giving to education and individual safety. Some complain it’s too much. I’ll not be one of them. I find people who often complain are unhappy with their life and most of what comes out of their mouths represents their unhappiness.
Gavin walked up to one little girl and said, “Hi, I’m Gavin Taggart.” He also walked up to his teacher and said, “You’re my teacher.” He had met her once before. Gavin is very social and seemingly fears nothing. Not even the ocean. I had to pull him out of the waves. Ran straight into them. His fascination with life over rules his censorship concerning safety…at least so far. He had only been walking for a few months.
He sat in the front seat with his friend, Jordan, whom he has known for a number of months. Megan and I sat at the end of the bus. Unable to see Gavin. I think moving forward it’s going to be more of the same. We’ll know he’s there, somewhere, and that he’s doing just fine on his own.
There’s nothing to look at so we climb our coats and staff our hands with envy. Smiling beautiful teeth to not forget. What are they selling as we drink this sweet sugar down. A mountain of things ringing in the air, some thirty things ago, filing non. So we stop. Here, or another place, and you see or you don’t. Congrats to the sunrise happening.
You have to work a way into your new self and that’s what’s strange about it all.
We’ll go here now. It’ll not matter because the filled glass will be put away. It’s not for them to do this. When they do we leave. It’s not truth and we know this. Because we know we cannot care about them or how they came to think. Their decision is their own and then there’s more. There’s always more it’s odd that we continue to care. A cob fell from the stock. A boy picked it from the mud and wondered where it came from. He turned and faced the morning sun. He wanted to ask.
Most of the people who walked by him looked happy.
He was curious about why and about how they were
so effortlessly happy without knowing they were.
One woman even laughed, her head raised slightly,
and her eyes shined as her fingers slid her
red hair behind her ear. She and her friend seemed to be
floating as they passed by while he studied their well-being.
The bench he was sitting on felt empty. He wanted to feel full and alive
and to feel and be like the two happy women without having to
study how to be anything at all, but he didn’t know how. Even the sun
shinning down seemed to brighten everyone’s hue, but he felt none of this;
he could only see it and he knew it wasn’t for him. He wondered if anyone
noticed him; his emptiness he was trying to cure while living. He closed
his eyes and hoped when he opened them again he would feel differently.
He decided he would count to his favorite number.
Thanks for reading!
My Published Work:
Recently, multiple people have contacted me concerning their blockage of writing. Here are my thoughts on this- Give yourself permission to write. Especially, give yourself permission to write what you aren’t allowing yourself to write and write all of it. Then, trim away.
If someone in your life is causing you to pause, or even controlling your writing, write it anyway. You don’t need permission to live your life. Live it, write it.
In my opinion it’s very unlikely a blockage is anything other than a block put in place by yourself, or someone next to you. Fear. You already know what to do. Do it. Even if the writing isn’t perfect, timeless, or up to your standards. It doesn’t matter. Not doing it at all is the only true failure.
Best of luck and cheers,
I like the simplicity of finishing a book
and closing it.
It seems though, sometimes,
the book doesn’t agree.