But I think bloging is therapeutic for me. It sets my mind at ease, giving me a break from just musing and daydreaming all these things in my head, and allowing me to just pour it all out so I don't have to think about it over and over. If someone asked me to blog a year ago I would have laughed at the absurdity: I am no writer. Yet now I surprise myself sometimes. Please don't take me as being one of the self-praising types, for if someone were to say to me I am good at writing, I would still say no, and thats the truth. I never really felt I can write. I still don't. I guess the point of all this rambling is that maybe all of this is the big HS doing His work in me. Maybe that's why its therapeutic...
Haven't written a poem in ages. Lately I just don't have the time, nor the muse for it. I want to exercise that muscle for a long time, lest I lose it like I lost drawing. Hmm... maybe one now for the road? Right here, right now, no scripts, no pre-planning, no idea what it will be about, no idea where its gonna go, but let's just take it as it comes and see where we end up...
There once was a boyRightttt Justin. Something you have done perhaps?
With a nose for picking toys
That fills his life with laughter.
He went to his sacred store
Where he found his favorite toy.
A big yellow roadster,
Full of pride, flashy bluster.
He hurriedly went in
To take it for a spin,
Not caring for the ropes and pins
That held it securedly in
Its own little box.
Round the block he goes,
The aisles all he knows.
'Til a man caught him by the collar
And brought him back to his mother.
She asks him where he's being
And tells him what trouble he's in,
Opening the box of a toy car
Not paying for it but playing
And making a mess of things!
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