you have the right not to write

since no one expects you

to reveal answers

hidden in the universe,

nor do they expect you

to scribble a phrase that

helps them to deal or to heal



you have the right to keep

thoughts to yourself,

you have the choice of

shrink-wrapping your inspiration

and hiding it in a dusty dent'd shoebox

that sits silent on your closet shelf,



you have the right to sit quietly

sulking in your sorrows

late into the night, and write

on the insides of old perfume boxes

and on greasy cardboard covers 

from discard'd  tv dinners

and scribble with ends of

chew'd up pencil tips

about the times you wish you

didn't do what you did,

or yearn'd and desir'd

for things to be better--

perhaps long'd for a miss'd kiss or

wish'd more time to say good bye

to a soldier going further than

a stone's throw away;

wondering why no one cares;

well. . .

everyone has the right

not to write. . .but we all

can choose to learn

from warriors of the word,

unafraid to exercise their right

to (at least) be bought, to be sold,

and to be read out loud and proud.


© 2004 cynth'ya lewis reed

All rights reserved.