No Scheherazade

I did not make up stories when I was small. As a teen, I did not write short stories. What I did do and continue to do is read.

 

No Scheherazade

   
The prince that strode
through my dreams
wore the finery
someone else clothed him in.
I spent my days riding
my purple bicycle fast
down black tarred roads
that sparked in the sun.
My voice rang out
over the loudest kid</span
on the playing fields.
Time was spent
running, jumping, climbing
only coming to rest
in the evenings, finally
cool after the blaze of day.
Or whenever I read
the next book. Head filled
to the brim with words
words, words, who could
ever find the time to write?

[If you’re enjoying my poems, why not check me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – out on social media: Facebook, Twitter, and my website. Or sign up for my newsletter.]

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