I was born. This is clearly a noteworthy accomplishment, as there is an annual party to celebrate it.
I didn’t like the change, but I was young and had no control or real choices.
I put pen to paper. I turned my feelings, my inner turmoil, into words that people enjoyed and were impressed by. I was eight. I didn’t know why anyone cared.
Life changed again.
I didn’t like this change, either. I still couldn’t do much about it.
I put the pen to the paper again. I submitted it to a contest. I got published.
I repeated the process.
I got offers from colleges, agents, and publishing houses. They didn’t realize I wasn’t eighteen. They said to check back.
I went to Penn State. Life changed. I traveled. I got lost- on purpose.
Death came over. Life diluted.
Then the towers fell.
Life diluted a little more.
Then a bit more.
Then there wasn’t enough left to dilute.
I couldn’t control it. I didn’t have a choice.
I put fingers to keyboard keys. I began to write the story that I am meant to write. It all led to this. The puzzle pieces don’t make sense- but the big picture does.
And now here I am, with the first part of that story ready to be shared with the world.
Colleges, agents, and publishing houses no longer send mail to me.
Death took those days with it. Death took a lot.
It’s alright though. Death didn’t manage to take my life. Oh sure, a big chunk of it is gone. I’m not who I was.
I am a Lenni Lenape.
Death may come- but I’ve got corn to feed the rainbow crow.
I know who I am. I know who I was.
Most important— I know WHO I WILL BECOME.