I’m a writer too.

I remember when I was a girl, I use to play in the mud. I would grab it slowly and let it drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Until it built a piled city on my leg.

And I would repeat this

Again

Again

So focused and clear with my intention.

I wanted to create.

I wanted to play.

But you took this away.

You said my play was just a hobby.

You said no one would pay me to play.

And so I listened.

And with a tuck of my hand, I shoved my play into my pocket.

I didn’t know then, that you were scared.

Scared I wouldn’t graduate.

Scared I wouldn’t find a job.

Scared I’d turn out like “them”.

I didn’t know then, that what you were making me do was live the life you failed to.

Author:

lover of words

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