I Wrote (A Rough Draft)
my first creature
at 12
When I did not
know enough
of the world
except that
it is sad
I drafted
a lone protozoan
transparent
and a curled tail
At sixteen
my teenage angst
found fruition
in a modern
fairy tale
It burrowed
into a
high school
literary magazine
A den
in a forest of
other creatures
It was a small
ecosystem
a big fish
and all that
A few years later
I made a monstrous thing
with the help of
a exterminator named Burroughs
It was an ugly thing
taped together
with bits and pieces of
words I had found and liked
It lived
and then died too soon
in someone else’s yard
printed on copy paper
Then, when I had
Found a source of income
To fund my efforts
I began experimenting
On my own
But then age
Had aged me
Had aged my perspective
Had aged my thoughts, words,
The way I put together
My animals
I made
Daring moves
That made sense
And the creatures
Were obscured
By sophisticated thoughts
And then
I gave up
Left creation to others
More suited to the cause
And concentrated on other pursuits
But then
The seed germinated within me
I revived an old creature
Gave it life
But it died on the vine
But it gave me hope
And I started making more creatures
Looking not at the end thing
But the process
And here I am
Okay with creatures
Some finished,
Others not so
But at peace with the process.
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