Family Sh*t Happens

A good friend of mine texted me this afternoon how family sh*t happens and how they can take care of themselves so I shouldn't worry about them. It's true. It's a natural instinct for people to want to survive whatever the conditions are. I worry though for when people lose their will to live.

Maybe I don't have that much belief in them as I don't have the same with myself. But the point is, I have realized lately the things that I can do (and have done) if I put my mind to accomplishing them and if I don't let others get in the way of my thinking. Like last night, for example. Not that I don't see how good a poet my critic is but I would rather take the opinion of a seasoned writer or academician (whom I respect) over a person who's as old as I am, who hasn't any published works, and who writes with highfalutin words to mask amateurism. Not to mention using MSWord thesaurus ...

Poetry is not about heavy words. It's the interweaving of these words that matters the most. When what you're saying just comes together and makes sense, like the formation of the cosmos from a chaotic breeding of gases. In fact, the best loved poems are usually those that are very simple and uncontrived. This is why I prefer freewriting poems and not editing them in the end, than painstakingly thinking of the next word that best fits the puzzle. It sorta destroys the freedom in your moment of inspiration.

Then again, who am I to come out like an expert on poetry when I only have 1 poem published, coincidentally the 1st prize in a school contest, and like, 200+ amateur poems kept in my tattered folder like a buried treasure chest. At worst I can be an Emily Dickinson who dies and people discover my works and say it is brilliant. Or maybe that should be "at best."

Who cares. I'm gonna be a fluke like my cousin. Family sh*t happens.