My Epiphany

Thu, 08/08/2013 - 20:06 -- elm_0

I breathe, inhaling and exhaling

Listening to the kids at the end of the block play

One was wearing red

One was wearing white

And one in black standing in the corner


I breathe, observing and watching

Looking over I see the one in black frowning

Looking over I see the others shouting

And looking over I anger and sadness


I breathe, feeling the air and closing my eyes

I sense the hurt

I feel the pain

I go back to my childhood games and recount all the memories all the torment and all the names


Looking over I become sad overwhelmed with my emotions

I cry

I write.


Looking over I remember my past

Feeling left out

I write what I see, two kids playing and one that reflected me

I feel for the one in black

I analyze

Then I realize

His mother came out with bandages and alcohol

He cried a little and went back to playing


Writing comes from observations

Every story has different mystification

What others may observe

Is wrong in a sense,

Writing therefore becomes an outlet to creativity, to expression, and to a story.




this is my expierence and im happy to share it

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