My entire life I wanted to write.
As a child I would spend hours in my room rewriting pieces of literature just to get the feel of the words in motion. Just to feel the energy that comes from the art of creation. I thought at the time, that surely every nine year old spends their afternoons doing this!
As I grew older, I became a Poet. Words filled my heart. Moved me. Motivated me. Words loved me and I loved them back.
To sit down with pen in hand, and a clean sheet of paper is beautiful and magical to me. It’s where the truths in my life get rooted, nurtured and blossoms from dysfunctional to not-as-dysfunctional.
Until the day came when I stopped writing.
Much of my writing is based on my life and the colorful experiences that paint the world of a single mother. Some in the Social Networking- sphere have come to love the tales and adventures of my son “da Boi”. It’s both easy and cathartic to mask humor in 140 characters.
Everything was changing. His 17 year-old world was unraveling. There was no longer anything funny or humorous to tweet about.
Where does a Writer go when words become too painful to face?
Some call me a Free-Spirit, some say I’m a Hippie…. I just know I desperately wanted to create a “Happily-ever-after” for my son. As his Mother, I need him to have a “Happily-ever-after.” I say this fighting back tears, fighting time, and fighting the demons of teen age defiance as it becomes entangled with severe mental health issues.
Avoiding words, meant I had a chance of hiding from the pain.
Except, no matter how much I hid and avoided, the heartache sill came, the tears still flowed.
My son’s “da Boi” story will be shared in time. Today, my first step is to face the honesty, the reality and the words….maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to conclude with a “happy-ever-after ending”.
If not – we will conclude with just the truth. Just the words.
As I sit with pen in hand, and a clean sheet of paper I now know that anything is possible.
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