The thing with creativity

 

And here's the thing.
The mind that seeks to create is ( I believe ) particularly vulnerable to destruction of any kind.
My mindset is and has always been that I can make things better, I am a problem solver and
extremely resourceful and it hits me hard when I can't find a solution to things in my life or my
circle. And then there are the things that are far far away from my circle that I can only read about or
watch on T.V. and they become absolutely unbearable. I have been numb inside since it happened..
Here I live up in Montreal - many thousands of miles away and I cannot get this young boy's face
out of my heart.  I have a lump the size of an apple in my throat as I type his name and I just feel
so foolish submitting photos of furniture makeovers day after day whenIwanttowhenIneedtowhenIhaveto
talk about someone I never met.  This is not a political stance - this is not an NRA stance - this is
simply a mother of a young man myself  - who cannot let this story go.
It doesn't matter if he was suspended from school or was an honor student - it doesn't matter even if he provoked ( which in my heart of hearts I don't believe at all but that is only my opinion as no one knows all the facts yet ) all that matters is that his life was taken away from him at an age when life was really only beginning. What happened to just wrestling someone to the ground?  Why did a life have to end over absolutely nothing? What if it had been your son, her son, his  son, our son, my son who recently had his car totaled when a woman's brakes failed - who's first thought was to calm the woman who smashed into his ( beloved first car )  reassuring her over and over that it was OKAY - both of them were alive - neither of them were hurt and trying hard not to cry when he recounted the story " but Mom I was so scared ). He wasn't hurt, can you imagine how scared this other boy must have felt in the last moments just before he knew it was over?  He didn't have time to say " Mom, I'm scared " - but he was - as sure as I know the sun will rise tomorrow - I know that he was scared and it's more than I can stand.
John says " don't do it Suzan - this is not what your blog is about ". Ironically I did start another blog a long time ago with the intention of just writing my poetry - but for some reason it feels too raw for me, too vulnerable to put them out there. It's one thing if people don't like my furniture - but my words?  I am far too fragile for that kind of critique.

and so I quietly filed it in my draft file.
but it keeps looking at me every time I go to post another photo
and it haunts me

Tonight my creation is words.
Thursdays Thoughts.
That I needed to write.
May this beautiful boy rest in peace.

A young boy walks alone at night
in my day he wore a jean jacket
the collar up against his neck to protect him from ........
The wind, the cold, the lonely street
but never from bullets
Not even a hoodie can protect you from that.


A young boy walks alone at night
as rain falls hard against the pavement 
Oh please don't put your hood up
please oh please keep it down, 
there's evil lurking all around
your hood will blind you and then he will find you
Let your hair get wet, it will keep you alert
maybe enough to not get hurt
and all will be ok,


A young boy walks alone at night
like young men do, have always done
did he think, did he sense,
did he know when to run 
while a shadow awaited
and contemplated
the outcome of his story


A young boy walks alone at night
a grin on his face? his heart in a whirl?
a skip in his walk? a chat with his girl?
and then
and then
the end of his world?


Please say it ain't so
I don't want to know
That I live in a world where people kill people kill people 
it just can't be in this day and age
must we lock up our children (quick, where is the cage? )
to keep them safe from others rage
it just can't be
and yet it is............................


A young man walks alone at night
5 minutes left
to see the moon - to watch the stars
to dream of girls of sports of cars
if this were a movie ( oh why couldn't it be ) 
this is the part where I'd get and leave
but there's no leaving this
until the writing comes up in cold stark letters
THE END

He walks no more.


RIP Trayvon 
xxx


I had to write this - as a wise man once wrote and put to music
" silence, like a cancer, grows.


I'm sorry John - sometimes I listen - sometimes I don't
and sometimes I simply can't.