Today, my father told me to just give up.
“Why do you waste your time on such things?
Is that what he calls it? Is that what he thinks?
That I sit here, doing nothing but doodling away my day?
Sorry, father dearest, you’ve got the story all wrong.
I write and do so much more than that.
I create; I am an architect with the worlds in my hands.
I am an actor, a director, and a casting cough…all in one.
I can, first, play any role give to me.
I am the elated boy who has finally found his way.
I am the disheartened girl who’s pregnant and doesn’t see light in day.
I am the voracious frog that only wishes flies would come out sooner, if only for May.
Writing. A waste? Compared to what, exactly?
The knowledge of science and math that is ever more pregnant with mischief.
Here we are, living in the land of scientists,
Only to stay silent in their journeys to defy God’s plan.
Does that make them more of a man?
I am a writer, real and true.
Don’t dissuade me, for I’ll only give up on you.
Stop, right here, right now, and see.
That in the world I’m entering, in the world I create, I be…
All that I want, all that I can, and even more than I could ever