Jay DeVita is a young writer who contacted me, some time ago, for some advice about writing. It is always an honour to feel that I can be of any support to others, especially when it comes to developing their creativity. I am thrilled to be able to share this first piece with you today. Please feel free to like and share….EVERYWHERE.
I may just be a kid with little to say and much less to do
But God have mercy on me, one day this kid will have something to say
But for now, my attempts at socializing are met with an endless row of cold shoulders
An army of people marching past, each averted stare feels like another wound on the ever growing list of scars
I don’t understand, I just want a friend in the world.
No, among the things God gave me, ability to connect with human beings isn’t one of them
He decided to leave me out of the choir room, gave me a trumpet that was missing a mouthpiece and said “make do with that”
And people are surprised when I try to.
In class, my hand raises confidently and Mr. Sultini picked me — he picked me — to analyze that moment, you know, that one moment in the story when the main character finally gets to make his big break. For whatever reason I stand up and open my mouth and my words are there, but they sit just outside of my reach, dangling off a cliff face that taunts me, and I reach again, I stumble and fall, words still hanging on the edge as I cascade down to nothingness. I stand there, silent, and Mr. Sultini waits for me to procure the words but I’ve already fallen, like nothing went to plan.
But the Lord’s plan is beyond me when there are seven billion people telling me that I should live by their rules
So I play my part, stand up straight, eyes forward, speak when spoken too and always be ready to go on the defensive, smile when you see someone, a good carefully maintained emotional mask to make the pain go away. But every once in awhile the mask breaks. And my voice busts out from behind the trumpet like an uncaged wild bird, singing a discordant hymn to fly over the borders of other people’s songs.
Shouting over the war-torn fields of old friendships.
Yet some people would rather see me caged, silent, to quiet The one beautiful perfect note that was wholly my own
My final chance at being something *anything* gone in a cloud of dust
I screamed into the void
And no one answered
They seldom do.
And I’m left alone in the dark
But when someone does answer it feels like a thousand fireworks lighting up the sky all at once
A flash of lightning
Everything is illuminated clear as day!
But something goes wrong
Something *always* goes wrong
Like that time when my friend and I were having conversation about something, and I did my best to string the words together, but I don’t see them anymore
Reality breaks and a new fight begins
Something tells me to pick myself and fight
The war goes on for a week or so before I put the knife down
Hoping this time is the last time
That next time I’ll know what to say, what to do, how to act.
Old habits come back, and I spend another night by the sink with an old toxic friend
I leave her where she stands
I wash the blood off and try again