By any other name,
I’d still be a writer
It’s in my heart, my blood, my fingers
Nouns and adjectives, metaphors
And similes pound through my veins.
The way some kids get math,
I get writing
The way some cats can pick up a guitar
And just know what to do,
I can wield a pen and do
Some fabulous damage.
It’s an extension of my being,
An outlet for my soul
Hell, I was writing on the walls
Of the womb.
Bedtime stories
And a love of words
Calvin and Hobbes at an early age
Fostered a talent I have been quick
To acknowledge, but slow to embrace
And it occurred to me the other
Day, the randomest of days,
That squandering this gift,
Not utilizing the talent
To its full blossom
Would be like spitting in the face
of a generous friend.
posted march 18,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died
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