Writing Exercise pt 1
I don’t want to analyze, I don’t want to look. I just want to feel like a page in that book. I don’t want to manufacture, I don’t wish to hide. I don’t care to run amuck, I’d much rather ride.
I don’t care about what happened years ago, that stuff is six feet deep. I want to breathe without this on my chest. I want to be awake, not waiting to be asleep. I don’t want to live from distraction to deed, but staying in my corner is at most what I need.
I’m pretty good at climbing walls. I’m excellent at breaking falls. I mastered the art of taking blows, and tough enough to shield them all. I’ve earned my bones at picking up. I’ve got gold stars in pushing luck. I learned to find my way in dark, I use my hands to find my mark.
I think there’s just one thing to fail, it’s how to forget the end of my tale. I’m cursed to carry it along my back, the stories I yell are like ‘sorrys in a sack’. They make no difference to them, you or me. They’re only words across my walls for everyone else to read.
Maybe one morn my head will awake, and the things I thought I lost will be there on my plate. Until that dawn breaks, falls or tells me wrong – there will always be a place for you in my song.
– Sorry I think I just doused you in Dr. Seuss prose. Maybe things carry better that way. Maybe.