By any other name,

I’d still be a writer

It’s in my heart, my blood, my fingers

Nouns and adjectives, metaphors

And similes pound through my veins.

The way some kids get math,

I get writing

The way some cats can pick up a guitar

And just know what to do,

I can wield a pen and do

Some fabulous damage.

It’s an extension of my being,

An outlet for my soul

Hell, I was writing on the walls

Of the womb.

Bedtime stories

And a love of words

Calvin and Hobbes at an early age

Fostered a talent I have been quick

To acknowledge, but slow to embrace

And it occurred to me the other

Day, the randomest of days,

That squandering this gift,

Not utilizing the talent

To its full blossom

Would be like spitting in the face

of a generous friend.

posted march 18,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died