Feb. 9th, 2013

megwrites: A picture of a colorful spiral galaxy in space. (galaxy)
I've had little if anything to write (creatively) since the beginning of January because I've been taking a course to get a paralegal certification that has basically sucked up whatever excess energy I might have had. And given that low energy is something I've been suffering from for a long time, that means writing has gone on the back, back burner. So has non-class related reading.

I wonder if this contributes to me resenting this class already and hating it. It's entirely too left brained for me and I know that now. I wish I'd realized it then.

But enough of that. I'm just posting to say that I am alive and I even have a poem that got workshopped by the writing group I'm in. Cut for brief babbling about my writing group )


"No One Comforts a Troll"

I think of myself as
both ugly and delicate
Like a field of porcelain weeds
If an army of boots
came marching quickstep across me
what would remain?
and who would care?

What if the troll sobs itself to sleep
every single night, emotionally fragile
and broken and
what if the troll under the bridge is
dying of it
No one comforts a troll
So how does it go on
and does it matter?

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