He gave me a free-pass to a ‘writers’ life’
Even before I’d ever really began
Fair dues to him, for it ain’t a pretty penny yet these bits in between – pure bliss
Be sure to paint, or write more so, in and around the cracks
This does indeed take me back, to a teenage time when everything made a little less sense only perhaps in my instance
When I was but trying to build myself up to earn a crust
Out of touch with reality but seemingly oh so succinct when it came to that page
And there’ll always get to be my very own kind of wage – namely an aged albeit terrifically beautiful primary school teacher all too willing to meet me right in the middle, preach my each ‘n’ every last word to all ‘n’ sundry
Fun!? ‘Tis far, far more than that
To her, and the rest, I must tip my hat
Never, ever in a million years had I thought for a minute my writing could so much as earn others an aforementioned crust of equal measure
When it came to the simple peace of mind of their every being
You stole me, I never stole you

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