I have just recently returned to using Instagram as social media was previously one of my biggest triggers. I am affirming my purpose as a writer, and there are always going to be moments of questioning self. Even if it’s just to gauge your message.
I just so happened to join a small group of poets who are immensely talented. Yes, me quirky Jessica trying to be a little more social and confidently goal driven.
(Fun fact, if you don’t know what to say during certain moments and conversations, it may be best to sit still, and every moment isn’t the moment to act. )
This group has been sharing poetry prompts and inspirational chats in a way to keep us all motivated to keep writing during national poetry month.
Disclaimer, I kind of sort of always correlate my hometown with negative experiences, as if there’s not one positive to good ole Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
Any location is what you make it, I’ve learned, because I have run from state to state habitually instead of facing my problems.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to write about social causes and feed my humanitarian spirit. It was just something that I knew since age 11. I always knew I was a writer.
I want to pay homage to this group and to the immense talent that I’ve seen within it. Naturally, after several odd and impulsive regurgitations of blabbering messages and a few moments of “unsending,” I felt the need to revisit the topic of things I love about my hometown. Rather than allow a forced and reckless ego driven spew of “wanna be gangster chick,” or whatever that was… I actually do have some good things to say.
Stingy old man?
Living in the south but occasionally questioning motives of church offerings
Collections of cars
Rings on each finger
Wads of cash secured by rubber bands.
School bells rings. “I wonder what Papa is driving today.”
It wasn’t so much a flashy one but rather a deeper message:
Work hard.
Seed.
Honor roll.
Award.
Award.
Award.
Papa’s proud.
Seed.
McDonalds. Chicken nuggets. With the dark meat, too.
Sweet & sour sauce.
Dr. Pepper.
Fries.
Better make sure they’re fresh.
Speak up for what you want.
Seed.
Lectures about jail, drugs, boys, but what young teen retains all that!!? Warnings of what takes place at wild parties. Eh, I was already doing the worst.
North Carolina School of the Arts –
Dressing rooms.
Seed.
Beautiful campus, worlds of art.
Seed. Seed.
And then we went from house to house and I saw him cleaning, scrubbing, telling me the value of work ethic.
“Are these all his houses?”
Seed.
Stubborn old man, refusing to walk with a cane.
Save money.
Seed.
But look at what you can instantly get with it!
Shallow absorption.
I joined the Navy, just like him,
But what a wonder it would have been if I simply understood
Why he taught me to hide a little money in my socks, and tell no one about it.
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