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I write about my past, my own real experiences. Even my poetry is inspired by my life. I was, I suppose, born writing, making up stories and rhymes from about when I started to speak, but had to wait until 8 or 9 to begin writing them down, once I could pick up a pen a little efficiently.
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I have my own network for writers, a small, quiet little place called Constantinople. You can click the link under the badge if you'd like to come and post there. No drama, cliques, or condemnation- just a nice place to share:
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I suppose if one work of mine describes who I am, it may be this one, actually:
Soundtrack
I am a skipping record, too many times played
Scritched and scratched and poorly patched
The romantic ballad, permanently delayed;
Lied beneath the stars one night, did the math
And I figure, problem is, got stuck on one track
Followed that dream until it died of remorse
Now I know I can't ever get those hours back
So I'll rewrite the soundtrack, change the course
Play it loud enough, easy mind will change again
Perhaps an open mind can really be a curse
Yet I know the tree won't break if it will bend;
Life: crazy thing one can't ever plan or rehearse
Some people just die stuck in a tired old dirge
Never dare change the song, filled with false fear
Submit to common sense when they feel an urge
There's music, everywhere, that they'll never hear
Rolling with the flow of a cacaphony of sound
I'll let my mind ramble onward to a better place
Or 'least a different one, if better can't be found
Take it nice and slow, refuse to run the ratrace
And I'll dance, I'll dance like a fool, mad-happy
I'll sing and I'll sing like I feel every word, inside
Every tune, be it sorrowful, or bland, or sappy
I'll play the skipped old record, enjoying the ride
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