She's Still Got It!

Curled up on my new bed, adorned with my new sheets, I busted out a beat up notebook, armed with my Bic. Nibbling on a Milkyway and humming along with the 80's radio station, I began to write. Earlier this morning I toted my writing supplies along on a trip to the laundromat. Yet the spinning and the churning and surrounding conversation about the Mark of the Beast was a little more than distracting. I should have known better than to go to the laundromat in Collegedale.

My trip proved to produce a few scribbled ideas and lines, but nothing substantial. Following my pathetic attempt at a batchelorette's lunch, I settled down to finish what little I had started. Normally I only spit out one poem at a time. The closest I have written two poems was within the same day, yet hours apart. For whatever reason, once I had finished the one, I simply continued and jumped into another. I am not sure of what caliber they measure up to, but at least I took that first step. I produced something, whether crappy or spectacular.

I may not have him. I may not have anyone right now. I may never have anyone. I may live the rest of this life haunted by the memories of a tall dark and handsome past. But I still have this. I can write. I still feel. I'm not afraid to be me.