Not just a Writer

I believe in used coffee grounds, the broken lead tip of a pencil, and a crumpled pile of lose leaf. I believe in the healing power of verse, the ability of words to cleanse, renew, refurbish. Because there is nothing more satisfying that purging, purging pain and happiness alike, onto a non prejudiced, all accepting and all inclusive pad of paper. This three by five flip book I keep in my purse drinks it up, my thoughts and emotions, without judgment, without telling me to move on or get over it or to stop bragging.
I believe in coffee grounds because sometimes when I see a sheet of paper, its emptiness is assaulting. Glaring back at me are the words “writers block.” Caffeine is the key to unlock my mind while it so effectively holds my thoughts for ransom. And the grounds, well they mean that my chocolate or caramel flavored narcotics are already in my blood stream acting as a catalyst, facilitating the transfer of words from their hidden state of secrecy, through a hot-pink ball point pen, and finally converting the hostages into something effective. My slightly shaky hand scribbles across the paper, delivering their liberation, completing this ransom-for-prisoner exchange. Whenever a hostage is released, people listen. They have a unique story to tell, one people want to hear. It just takes two cups of Starbuck’s breakfast blend to get the ball rolling.
How to curb my enthusiasm? I’m setting the captives free! It must be done quickly. And in my haste, SNAP! Broken lead tip of a pencil. I misspell a word. I can’t misspell on a word on their declaration of independence! Time to start over. Crumpled pile of loose leaf. Maybe I could use it to climb up the tower and rescue the prince. That would be a refreshing change of pace.
Because I am not just a writer.
I am a creative genius, intent on saving the world, one poorly written haiku at a time. 


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