13 year anniversary

it was 13 years ago when i became rebellious. i experienced a true teenage rebellion and weed was not my drug of choice. writing was. i was so ashamed of my addiction, i hid it from so many. not feeling worthy to call myself a writer, because i was not affirmed with an A. so i secretly kept at my craft only practicing when english papers were due. or when i attended and wrote in the occasional poetry class. i did not, however, stop fantasizing of my dream of becoming a writer or a poet. especially when i attended the youth poetry slams that san francisco made trendy. i have since become a writer. i am still far from good. even farther from great. two moons removed from prolific. i'm okay with that. i am closer to being ready to die trying. i have started by teaching. someone once told me try doing something else, and if you can't live without it, you'll return to it. it, for me, has been writing. i've tried to be someone else, do something else. and when i read "bad writing" mine especially, i get pissed. and i want to be better. i just got feedback from a teacher, "you have to be clear and precise" "people out there get pissed when you waste their time" with "bad writing" said she. well, once i got passed the shell shock of truthness, i allowed reality to do its work. i let the words sink in and grip my ego. i thrusted myself into the messiness of this work and the long road ahead. thank God for my insistence. for the gift of my insistence. until i see the books that lie within on that self. i will die trying. and so there i went to the house of writing. and there a met on paper many writers, authors of more than 30 books what?? and i saw the cost of a class $200 dollars for six weeks. and i began to think of a master plan.