The idea struck me that I’ve been writing as long as I can remember. The content has most definitely changed over the years. The modality has evolved from quill and ink (you bet your ass I tried it when I was 12 because COOL!!!), pen and notebook, scribbles on post-it’s, to voice to text quick note and thoughts on my iPhone and blogging on this little corner of the inter webs.
Nice thing about pen and paper is the lack of autocorrecting “writing” into “arriving”… Let’s face it. Autocorrect can be really ducking annoying, am I right?
I digress. The idea I started to speak of manifested into hunting up old journals. I have found a couple so far and begun my perusal of childhood and teenage philosophies. Yikes. Maybe not enough time has gone by where I can read them without smacking myself upside the head. I’ve found a few gems so far and some I plan to post at a later date. Today, I have happened upon an entry from when I was 14 and fancied myself a poet.
A brief background of life at 14 for context is that I was living in the little town? hamlet? of Datchet, England which is a stones throw from Windsor and Eton, and a quick train ride to London. I was enrolled at TASIS, a private international K-12 attended by other audacious expats. My entry deigns to includes a footnote of a copyright notice in the idea that someone may come along and uncover the brilliance of my prose and pass it off as their own. Hah. Ok.
An Ode To Cyrano (1997)
Quite unnerving I must confess
But amazing still, how he did dress
His repulsive face with words so bold
Putting all in their place with his heart of gold.
This my friend, was Cyrano
Fighting each and every foe.
To the death he never gave
No love e’er reached him, save
His dear Roxanne. Through letters true
Expressed his words of I love you.
Finally and in the end
His enemies were but few
Roxanne’s love for him did mend
Whilst his spirit flew.