Today, my father told me to just
"Why do you waste your time on such
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
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
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,
The knowledge of science and math
that is ever more pregnant with mischief.
Here we are, living in the land of
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
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