the birds woke me up this morning.
in a mid morning daze
from a long night
needing to rest well through the dawn,
they woke me
and were adamant about keeping me that way.
trying to gather my thoughts
as i take myself out the door,
words like cars barely getting through the gate.
‘fuck’ slides through no problem
with its inborn confidence
but the word morning
seems to get cut off at the ‘m’
forcing me to shovel it up
from this early traffic jam.
all the other words are carrying out
but if I try to stop and look at them
they fold back on themselves
and i have to read them backwards
as i drive by
and carry it all around the corner.
She saw me then
and I felt ashamed.
A doubt can be flattering, but an assertion is inflammatory. I was recently requested by a family member something to the effect of “Oh, you’re a writer, come up with a good Facebook status for me.” I decided for the sake of civility to not take that as an insult. I glanced at her page, thought for a few seconds, jotted something down and spun the screen back to here. The first thing I heard was “Oh, what a pretty line! Where’s it from?” I chuckled, and told her that i just thought of it; for the rest of the day, all I heard was “No… that has to be from something, you can’t just ‘think up’ something beautiful like that, where’s that quote from?” This infuriated me to no end. Why is it that I can’t be the creator of my own words? Is there something about me that just makes this unbelievable? How could I hope to pursue the dream or idea of being a writer, when even the simplest output I could give is robbed from me? This experience was so fucking insulting…
Question to those out there, how have/do you overcome others imposing the idea of limits? Have you had similar experiences?