Thank You To My Readers
I love to write, create and conceptualize words,
And phrase them in ways I haven’t before heard.
Sometimes I come up with different topics for my blog,
But more often than not it’s those random disconnected thoughts.
That pop up.
They aren’t consistent enough to write about in the first place.
Secondly this results in saved drafts pending for days,
Until I get the urge to review, revise and edit away.
I use those times to process and frame,
Come up with a style that accurately depicts my range.
I used to be bad about dumbing down simple shit,
So they could understand the meaning
In the words that I re-missed.
Constantly dropping hints,
In my writing here and there,
I had to get serious.
Words owned me,
When I adopted a writing style.
Punctuation and grammar police.
Let me alone for awhile.
But I stayed being lazy pen to pad.
For years I wrote unfocused,
Just for the hell of it.
Directionless and mainly as a way to alleviate stress.
Celebrate pleasure, pain, and at times to taste success.
I’ve lent my fingers and my head time and time again.
Even still writing remains.
My escape from all of it.
I read each and every comment left.
Whatever’s taken from my diction,
Mostly your thoughts impress,
Upon me and exact a certain thankfulness.
I take heed to what you’ve taken from taking the time to read.
Then I take you to heart.
Because, well, that’s just me.
From time to time, I feel it necessary to reply,
Directly to a comment that’s directed at mine.
Once in a while, I may be inclined,
To honor it with it’s own post,
In regard to a question why.
Partly to share the response with everybody,
The understanding it could bring,
To another person inquiring.
Don’t feel slighted in the least,
If you don’t hear back from me.
Guarantee it probably means,
Damn you got me.
It’s hard enough to not become monotonous.
Add to the fact that when writing gets sporadic,
I go with the flow.
Or go nuts.
Cause unlike Janet,
I don’t need control.
Me and my notepad,
We go way back, yo.
In high school they called me a dreamer.
Said my head was always in the clouds,
And what I would dream of would never amount.
Yet not once did they cater to my expectations.
Barely passing in sacrifice for streetwise occupations.
I sucked it up and caught wind of my future despite fears.
That I hadn’t put enough stock into prior years.
I pushed myself and waged wars against doubt.
Allowed the past to remain time capped.
At least for now.
Toward every end leads a begin,
To put it bluntly, sans finis.
Thanks to all who read my blog.
This one’s for you.
image: mike otto