Allow Me To Pre-Introduce Myself...

Friday, January 23, 2009

I am unfounded and unexposed. Indited-ly pure, yet terminologically corrupt. My words reflect infection within themselves, within the passages written on each sticky, in each memo on my Treo, in the notes of my datebook, random pieces of paper, cyberly morphed into blog posts...

There is a deep, more profound abyss in defining my self-made words, that turn into sentences, then paragraphs into stories that only I sometimes understand.

At times I feel verbally crippled, linguistically challenged; thoughts only appear on paper, or on 17” plasmas by way of click-ety key strokes.

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I was five when I wrote my first poem. I think. At least that’s what my cousin Karen remembers. A few years ago we took into recollection the creation of my very.first.poem. She says everyone was shocked by the words I managed to compose on this little sheet of paper. She thinks I wrote it before I was even able to read. Ha.

I’ve said it before, and I shall say it again:

“Writing Is My 1st Love. Everything else in my life has fallen into place behind it. I can draw a direct line from when I first fell, to now, today. It all coincides. In time the dream will be mine. So until then, here I am...Chasing It."

If only I still had .it. today…

BOMPF*

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