This I Knead

Dear Real World, I’m not talking to the ones who self-gratifyingly make statements like: “You look good… today.” I’m talking to the ones who think that simply because I look good every day I must have something I am trying to prove. I am complete, with myself – all by my-self. I am unique, but if you’d care to read you’ll see that you are too. I am outstanding, not only because I allow myself to be but also in the way that I speak my truth without devaluing yours. Your heritage and your standards you must always remember that they’re yours and not mine. I consider myself beautiful, but that’s because I know the work I put in. I consider myself complex, because I never know which dot I’ll connect next. I consider myself warrior of peace, because my speech initiates breaks from silence. I refuse, however, and please hear me clearly when I say this: I refuse to be normal. Naturally, I am not made to be a wallflower. Natura...

 I'm allergic to nuts. What does that have to do with the picture or the title, or even bread as a whole? I don't know; well, I didn't know when I chose to use that simple sentence to lead in to this blog post but I hope I'll make some sense very soon. It's been a ridiculous span of time since I posted anything, and that's not because I haven't been writing (on the contrary, I just finished producing a short play festival that I am really quite proud of.) I've been away because I lost focus of the reason I started this blog. I need this as a space to create and hash out literary conquests and dilemmas. My dilemma, that I am faced with now, is being a parcel. I'm allergic to nuts. Gone from being a cog in the machine a part, now I sit apart fallen like a nickel through an aperture  a cast iron grid a fake smile a passing hello.  Gone from being a cog in a machine operating in/outside of my own will feeling yet filling a space...

 I don't know about you but I sure do know about me;  I've caught a case of fearful hope. It's not like I'd planned it. It simply occurred to me -  that is to say, it came rather surprisingly. With tinges of colour. With flurries of shade. I'd caught a case of fearful hope. Yet, searching for salvation or attempting to run free did nothing but bring it all closer to me. I don't know about you but I know about me; I've caught a case of fearful hope. So, now that you know, now; now, I'd beg you to help, now;  save for deafening you as I frantically yelp! NOW! I've said it all don't think me a dope. I've caught a case of fearful hope. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.