This is a poem I wrote to be a spoken word poem. I really had no idea what I was doing so yeah, hopefully it makes sense. I definitely needs some work though and I hate repetition so I might just cut that bit.
My writing is important to me!
I spend hours sitting at the computer working… on my farm…
I don’t rhyme or sing, I play with words and aliteration, allusions, allegory, analogy and that’s just the A’s!
My writing takes time, like a very aged cheese.
Hours and hours of slaving at midnight and days and days of running around town.
Cups and cups of coffee, sugar and chips.
My writing doesn’t make me money.
You won’t find my writing in any magazine or book.
My writing makes me poor.
My writing won’t give me wealth or jewels, but maybe a loaf or bread or two.
One day I’ll be your boss! If you work at winners and are between the age of 16 and 21…
Everything looks better when your at the bottom of the pile.
My writing doesn’t have a devoted following.
My blog has four followers, and one serial commenter.
She’s 14 and from New England. She likes exclamation marks.
My writing hasn’t won awards or prizes.
It hides it self in the depths of my computer and the vast desert of the internwebz.
It’s like a shy child waiting for the right moment to stick its toe in the water and it’s head out the door or the oven, if you want to go that route.
My writing is all up here (in my head).
It spans a life time or two and doesn’t have an ending or beginning, because truly, what story does?
And now your asking if it’s up here, is it even writing?
My writing, it’s damn important me!
Let me tell you something about my writing.
It’s me.
