Thursday, May 24, 2012
paper for paper
you knew I was talented, but you forgot. you knew I had potential, but you forgot. you knew I was gifted, but you forgot. you knew I had the passion, but you forgot. you knew I would stop at nothing, but you forgot. you held out your hand for my money and I had none. I pissed it all away. must have paper to get paper. you never told me this. you don't remember anything even though you were there. you knew I was ready and willing without your validation, you knew I could do it, but you forgot.
Tickle your toes. . .
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...