I was never much of a writer I never knew how it was to Rearrange letters in the alphabet To form various splashes of color That create one big masterpiece I was never much of a writer I never knew how it was to Stretch my hands out And be able to reach for words and phrases I can use to build and create and make Into a story I can call my own. Instead the words and the letters Looked like jumbled puzzle pieces that didn't quite work together, They looked like stars In the form of failed constellations Mismatched brightness and color I didn't get any of it Sometimes I think I was too dizzy From this 360° spin that we call life See, I was never much of a writer But I tried I tried mix and matching words that I thought would make sense But they never did I tried picking the best flowers For this bouquet of letters and symbols I tried making But all I ended up with was Withering words and Misspelled petals I tried building Stories Lego after lego after lego But the pieces still refused to fit So the towers fell; crumbled Again and again and again Reminding me of a mistake I made years ago Again and again and again Like a song on repeat And it's times like these when I wish life was pencil on paper So that I can erase, erase, erase All the parts of me I didn't like But I never had enough strength To pick up a pen and create. I couldn't. I tried lighting candle upon candle Of fragments of stories I thought I understood So that I could see what the darkness up ahead contained But all I ended up with Was a forest fire And the next thing I knew, Everything was burning My home My papers My dreams My desires My pride My stubborn head My rebel heart And this flimsy, failed wrist of a writer of mine Everything was burning And everything that burned turned into ash Disappeared into smoke somewhere above our heads So that we can no longer see them And I finally understood I was never a writer I was never the writer I was never the author Or the editor Or the storyteller Or the poet I was never supposed to write in the first place So I stopped writing. And I let The Writer write This huge masterpiece of a story That we all call life And ever since then, The words made sense The flowers never withered The Legos all fit The candles stayed lit And life Has never been more awesome
A bit of my testimony in a poem. Jeremiah 29:11. Made on March 6, 2015.