Literary Dreams

Imagination and reality. I waver back and forth. Anticipation and agony as I decide what I scribble down. I'm good. Very good. Not bragging, but giving myself a much deserved pat on back. Songs play in my head uncontrollably. I'm a musician and an actress and a writer. Why do I bother telling you these things? Because it's who I am. Everybody talks too much, therefore I write a lot too much. A good system. I listen, I observe. I write music, I rap, I teach. I'm a student and a mentor. I am content to follow a source I do not understand. I laugh and sing and forgive myself everyday because that's the only way to keep my soul alive. I am a woman who runs with the wolves. A spirit child with literary dreams. All I want to do is write and that Epiphany came very abruptly. I pscho-analyze myself till I'm green in the face. A perfectionist, but only because I learn from my mistakes. I'm a soldier. My father taught me well. When he wore his police uniform I would stand in dismay and awe. My posture standing upright and my mind sharpening. I grew stronger and stronger and braver and braver, getting mean at the obscene. Standing my own on the playground and as an adult a master on the streets. Hard on the outside, but once you broke through to my heart I melted in your hands. But keeping it all bottled up, left me feeling like I was drowning. I wrote a poem. I wrote another. I wrote another. I filled books and books with my knowledge. I sang the poems. I learned by teaching myself and listening to what I felt was right. Nobody else. I trust my intuition. I never second guess it. I have light green eyes and blond hair and have a name that is Celtic and means "From God." I've predicted the future. I've seen a pschyic. I've studied my soul. I've been back-stabbed and ridiculed. I take it with open arms. A female Eminem. I learned to love myself and accept my faults. After that, life was easy. Who's running my game of life? I AM. 3-3-11