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May I be a Poet?

I did not brush my teeth today. I slept fourteen hours and cried a little bit for no reason. I do not like Saturdays. I do not like Mondays nor Wednesdays neither. My non-favorite days include Thursday, Sunday, and Tuesday. And please do not forget about Friday.

I woke up at 7:00am today and looked for something to do. I needed to stimulate my brain with something creative; otherwise, I am really dying. I typed "Saturday morning job," "class," "workshop," and "poetry" into Google. I used to love a quiet Saturday morning. I used to love any kind of morning... now every morning, I scream the 'f' word in my car on the way to work.

My earthquake poetry project is still in plastic folders. They are slightly dusty. The first words still remain on the pages and are waiting to be killed and reformed. I want to be ready for fall submission packages, but I am not confident that will happen.

I fell in love with writing poetry very easily. It was more suitable for me than writing fiction or nonfiction, or even playing the piano. I could imagine every word and line on one page. I could not be a pianist, but I thought that I can be a poet.

If I give up writing now, I will not have anything to be proud of. Some way, I need to keep writing. Seriously, I am desperate to be a poet.

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