I Am a Writer

Life sucks in a world where people can’t be what they want to be. Polly talked Alyssa out of going to college. The latter got lots of letters from universities and scholarship offers. Polly wouldn’t allow it. Now, Alyssa is just a bank teller. What did she want to be? God forbid an actor or musician or something creative. Alyssa is smart and could’ve done anything she wanted. The family is strictly working class and incurious about what can’t be eaten, worn, or slept under. Anything more than that is considered selfish and useless. They all despise poetry and poets as unrealistic and self indulgent. Trying to argue with them is pointless, for not one of them sees it my way. To the best of my ability, I have set up my life to enable myself to be what I want to be. My family sneers at me for a lazy reprobate, but I’m sick of feeling guilty. For a change I’m dishing it back at them and calling them names. What it all comes down to is mutual misunderstanding, and nobody wants to take the blame. But now I’m done with blaming myself. If Polly wants to take issue with me, then she’s in for a surprise. I am a writer, and that’s all there is to it.

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