Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

There are days when I love writing so much that I just can't seem to get words out quickly enough to satisfy the inundated crevices of my soul. And there are probably far too many days when I hate it -- I hate the way it feels, sounds, tastes . . . I hate the way it taunts me and chastizes me for not being more clever and witty. Writing is really a love/hate relationship. You don't do it simply because you love it. You do it because you feel you have to -- that you will cease to be you if you don't. I've talked plenty about how I discovered that writing was my life-calling when I was 9 years old, writing my first book of poems for the Young Authors Contest. I had never felt such satisfaction before as when I first put pen to paper for that very first poem, titled "Mothers." I will probably never aptly articulate just what that moment meant for me and what it did to me. I was hooked. I was lost and gone forever in a world full of words,...

* This is part 4 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1, 2, and 3 please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I hated gy...

Sometimes I forget just how much I take things for granted . . . how quickly my life could be altered forever with a mere whisp of change. I sometimes forget how easily my "normal" could be shifted. All it takes sometimes is a small occurrence -- a mere blurb on the grand scale of time. I am often telling myself how I should be more grateful, and not just in saying it every so often, but showing it, living it, breathing it. So often while I pray I tell God how sorry I am for not appreciating all the things I've been given. How I'm an ungrateful little cretin. And then . . . I do what human nature calls me to do . . . I forget again. It's not that I mean to be unappreciative. I don't think anyone means to be that way. It's just normal. It's normal to get caught up in our daily to-do's, lists, stress, etc. I think we're just wired that way. It's not an excuse, just a reason. It's arguable how good of a reason it is. And I'...