novel
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Sonia E Rodriguez
Creative adaptation
Sonny’s blues story to poem
Nobody
The blues began to play
Writers suffer from a chronic parasite; it is called writers block.
They are discouraged yearly from writing due to the failure of the workshops.
On this island I am stranded, with nothing but my thoughts
Knowing back home, my love misses me a lot
So I wait and I wait and I wait some more
So I decide to open the book, and then await for help
“Naughty Girl!
DO You know?
Where the wicked go?
After Death?”
Asked A Sadist
TO A Small Girl
“They GO
TO Hell”
The Girl replied
“What Must
You DO?
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it, I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
I anxiously await the day
My novel is confirmed to play
To invade your minds
With my tantalizing words
For my characters to wound
To uplift, to hurt.
For the hours I've spent
In silence to toil
I have a smallish voice.
It carries the weight of massive expression,
But bears it alone.
My visions detonate in the world around me,
They scatter and end up in every corner
Why write when Tim Horton’s has the NEW RED VELVET CUPCAKE?
When Zara’s new floral jeans are $49.99?
They also sell knitted sweaters, flat rim hats, faux gold necklaces, OPI nail polish, Mavi jeans
Words of the mouth are difficult for me
I don't take my time
I don't think before I speak
But words of the fingertips
Those are to keep
I wish I were many things,
but to be many things
I would need to be a writer.
A writer creates what they want to see and feel.
The sound of the crickets, willow was sure, still couldn’t mask the clanging of her beating heart against her rib cage.
Anger.
Love.
Strength.
Weakness.
Hate.
Fear.
I write for them.
They take over.
They use my pen to escape.
Word
By
Word.
Once they start, they do not stop.
I smile when I read this line of Shakespeare
And I nod to myself
And think
That never have I been so satisfied
With a few words typed on paper.
