The Writers Voice
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Teacher, Do You See Me Waving
As a writer, or scribbler of words if you prefer, I
wonder often indeed, do they see me painted and
stretched out upon the parchment they view?
Surely this remains in part, the exercise of words
arranged and cast, does it not? To have our very
essence spelled out in arrayed lines depicting our nature, opinion, heart, and color of soul.
So in fact, if part of our venture of spilling
words openly remains that of being seen or noticed
in part, does that not rather paint us as somewhat
pathetic, conjuring up a comical and endearing
picture of a grade-schooler painted in wild
gesticulation displayed, while in animated fashion
and form raises his hand in the classroom and waves
it in desperateness, to be noticed, for he feels he
has the answer to the question asked.
Oh yes, few vary in this respect, we each become
quite animated when we sense we might have the
answer to something, anything or everything!
Yes, I imagine as writers indeed, that we hope, we,
our character, and our banner of heart, can be seen
saddled upon the many words we pen and sketch into
time, though I imagine that many read as well and
never see the rider himself mounting the very
framework of saddled words cast. And for many who
pen with bylines equaling Anon, I'm sure this
remains acceptable and preferable to be certain.
Yes, I as well scribed when young, under the unique
and carefully thought out pen name of Anon! I liked
the fact that my words stood tall and spoke, yet
would tell not, nor reveal the river and source of
authorship shrouded by choice, and buried in
Yes, how thought provoking to be sure, if we are
those who have penned a book that depicts our
personal walk of life, indeed our very heart and
essence lie between the cover front and back. Yes,
our words they remain somewhat like a photo we
choose to share publicly, yet not all enjoy having
their picture taken, now do they?
I when young was described as a ham somewhat, yes
eager to have history catch my pose for posterity,
for indeed then did I feel in my innocence, that my
childlike smile of innocence was worthy indeed of
being captured and stilled in time.
As I now trudge onward in my escapade of parading
my heart in public, I have somewhat differing
feeling about this application of heart strewn
about in reckless fashion for all to view, yes,
less sure of this fact, that any or all should
desire to see my still childlike presence racing
and scampering about on parchment daily.
Yes, it was easier I fear to walk forward in
distinct surety when my byline merely was painted
Yes, most all desire to be seen, revealed and
captured in times grasp, due to our words
imprinted, spoken and laid carefully upon the
backbone of time churning, our fear I can only
guess, as with photographs remains this, is that
our words may not paint us in trueness of character
and heart! Or rather this fact, that our words
painted us too honestly indeed!
We as individuals I think all grapple daily with
this notion of insecurity stomping and roaming
about our inward arenas of heart, yet few often
will admit it! Often it has been my experience in
life, that the individual who claims not to give
one good damn what others think, generally it is he or
she who perhaps cares the most, and rests in deep
layers of insecurity to be sure! Sensing this as a
character defect of sorts, they masterfully mask
and veil their true feelings from that day forward,
determined in bedrock fashion and form, that none
shall ever gain a glimpse of that character, and
heart so special, ever again!
Why indeed I wonder? Well, I can only speak for
this one soul I fear today, we indeed all have need
of acceptance, some have never known such
acceptance, as personal or intimate their entire
life, we therefore in clumsy fashion and form
attempt to warm up to it our entire lives! Sadly
often those that try the hardest fail most
Yes indeed, teacher, today do you see me raising my
hand! I think I have the answer today! For all know
usually I do not! Therefore my handraising of past
has often ended in embarrassment and disappointment
too numerous to recall.
Yet in like spirit as children, we some still
furiously throw our hand up still, and wave it in
time, desperately attempting to depict the very
essence and banner of our heart, as if to say,
hello, do you see me in here? Yes, hiding, dwelling
and lurking within the very blood, bone and
framework that these words painted, pictured and
represented this day.
I adore the childlike qualities that remain still
deeply embedded within each and all of us still, I
find this animated innocence and impulsive behavior
noble and rich in sweeping simplicity and charm.
Sadly may I state, many in life's walk have
determined to never again allow this special and
radiant side of our sculptured heart's to ever be
seen again, deeming it not finished nor refined
enough to be displayed, manifested and showcased in
the public marketplace of life.
I have penned rather extensively over the years on
this sad conduct of hiding the transparent
innocent heart that I feel still reigns within each
and all of us, or should reign, I should state. I
feel without a doubt that the innocence of
childhood that once candlelit our pathway walked,
was never intended to be discarded as we melted
into adulthood. No, I feel rather this simple
uninhibited accent of childlike is our brightest
and most glimmering attribute of character, when
allowed to shimmer, live, breathe, and be seen.
Yes, my short attention span manifested upon
parchment as well, depicts my learned and practiced
submission and attempt to bow to these childlike
yearnings of heart. As I digress often, and skip
and traipse here and there in topic, thought and
remembrance, yet hell, its kind of fun to be free
enough once again to do just that!
For is it not freeing the vaulted child within us,
one significant and essential step in walking in
new refreshed freedom of spirit daily, for surely
none walk in a modicum nor measure of freedom to be
compared to the heart of a child!
Oh just mere observations my friends, no more no
less, for I seek not to set myself up as one who
stands upon high and lofty ground of thought, I
merely am just talking out loud that's all, and yes
often in life I fear few have ever reached the end
of my words on the page, for I seem to talk too
much sometimes! At least that's what I was told as
a child! Yes, that I was a jabbermouth and
chatterbox, and talked as much as a girl! Parades
now the voice of my Father in time, in rehearsal
Well hell, I always liked girls, and found them
brighter than boys, so I understood not his words
of inference completely, yet I did, I fear, all to
well. I knew this much, that he had little regard
for my words until his departure of recent
carriage. I know that I talk too much! I have been
aware of it for years! Yet... I wonder who set the
rules and boundaries on such things anyway, though
I know that I have a propensity to be a tad wordy
and verbose, I don't believe that I ever
encountered where it was a sin?
Yes, I know, some are now whispering and muttering
even as we speak.... well maybe it should be a sin!
Alas, if it remains a sin indeed, I shall be left
suspended in time somewhere for evermore I fear,
never reaching my final destination!
No, it may be offensive, this tongue of mine that
seldom stirs not, nor stands still, yet I hope not
that it remains a sin dark and swarthy, for
actually if the truth be known, I am deep down an
affable and sincerely friendly type and sort, just
trying to be friendly the only way I still know
how, yes upon parchment! For it became years ago
transparent, that for whatever reason, many chose
not to entreat my voice so hard to detect and
understand. Yes, it is for this very reason that I
stood silent in tongue for years!
But just as in grade school, I stand in similar
posture this day, I try not to raise my hand in
class so much, for the teacher grows weary and has
stated as much in public causing great
embarrassment I might add, and she receives my
upraised hand now with a sigh instead of a smile. Yet being a kid, and still knowing no boundaries of
patience and temperance, I yes, throw up my hand
once again today, and I wave it about clumsily, as
a signal of my presence and celebration of life,
overlooked by many in time, but nevertheless still
Oh teacher, oh teacher! Can you see me today?
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