Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am... but, let's get back to reality... Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums. A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, "You don't belong!" Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said, "Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone." Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me. I'd say, "no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!" Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real. For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight. Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names. DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me. We should welcome those who are different than us. Words of truth inspire movement, like fire. I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on. If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License." True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss. I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep