Constance

I write about my past, my own real experiences. Even my poetry is inspired by my life. I was, I suppose, born writing, making up stories and rhymes from about when I started to speak, but had to wait until 8 or 9 to begin writing them down, once I could pick up a pen a little efficiently.


I have my own network for writers, a small, quiet little place called Constantinople. You can click the link under the badge if you'd like to come and post there. No drama, cliques, or condemnation- just a nice place to share:


Visit Constantinople

I suppose if one work of mine describes who I am, it may be this one, actually:

Soundtrack


I am a skipping record, too many times played

Scritched and scratched and poorly patched

The romantic ballad, permanently delayed;

Lied beneath the stars one night, did the math

And I figure, problem is, got stuck on one track

Followed that dream until it died of remorse

Now I know I can't ever get those hours back

So I'll rewrite the soundtrack, change the course



Play it loud enough, easy mind will change again

Perhaps an open mind can really be a curse

Yet I know the tree won't break if it will bend;

Life: crazy thing one can't ever plan or rehearse

Some people just die stuck in a tired old dirge

Never dare change the song, filled with false fear

Submit to common sense when they feel an urge

There's music, everywhere, that they'll never hear



Rolling with the flow of a cacaphony of sound

I'll let my mind ramble onward to a better place

Or 'least a different one, if better can't be found

Take it nice and slow, refuse to run the ratrace

And I'll dance, I'll dance like a fool, mad-happy

I'll sing and I'll sing like I feel every word, inside

Every tune, be it sorrowful, or bland, or sappy

I'll play the skipped old record, enjoying the ride