Post by nabraska on Aug 14, 2008 19:05:56 GMT -5
what does a writer do when he turns from the page to the stage, and then becomes disillusioned?....what does a poet do when they question the love they have about the form?....come home to bosoms and blessings, beautiful friends, and like minds, where freedom is more than just a word, or a catch-phrase for new millennium activist, or a random and imagined state....come home writer, come home poet, find urself....hueman, find urself
| shit ain't right i tell you...shit ain't right | i agree | i hate this poetry stuff too. makes my skin itch oft times i just grab pens | and rolled up sheets of looseleaf cause i'm trying to scratch the itch | and when i discover my itch is satiated | i find little musings sitting on the paper that i claim as my own out of spite | oh yea | what i was trying to say was welcome home