My “A R T” is words.
Irrelevant. Multicolored. Shadowy. Golden. Inadequate. Halleluiahs. Grief-Stricken,
& tasting of cinnamon, nutmeg, mandarin Kool-Aid.
From a young age, my mother said I’d walk around with bright
red tablets jotting down ideas, free verse, recipes, letters.
I find it remarkable that our distinctiveness and passion originates
so early on.
You see, God already
knows what we will need to survive.
He already recognizes we will need passages to release our uncertainties,
our darkness, our insanity, our teeming twisted syllables.
Yes. That’s what I
know for sure…words have saved me,
offered me oxygen when I’ve been dead.
“Why do you write?”
I give the same answer every. single. time.
But this doesn’t mean I follow the rules.
I despise rules, regulations, convention.
I want to begin sentences with and, but, asshole, so.
If I want to dangle participles and split infinitives, I
In my twenties, I read the journals of rebel poet, Anne Sexton
Immediately I noticed the editor
had left in all of Sexton’s grammatical errors.
I loved it, appreciated it.
The immediacy and flow of consciousness attracted me, made
me visualize Sexton with her pencil in hand writing furiously, ceaselessly, the
ashes of her cigarette falling to the pages.
The idea of Sexton “not thinking,” but “writing,’ caused my insides to perform back
flips and somersaults.
For me, this is what my
blog has become.
A platform to communicate, persuade, inform, and enlighten without
focusing on a set of laws or inhibitions.
A place to exercise my vocabulary without worrying about professors,
judgers, or self righteous syntax police.
When my book is ready,
I will employ an editor.
In the meantime, I
will write without apology or regret.
I will write….
because I desperately need the oxygen to breathe.
–Dear, Reader, what is your “Art?”
—NOTE: Press this NOW and Dance your Ass Off!