My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. (a bunch of poems)
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Monday, March 30, 2015
Columbia apology
I wonder if any of my teachers ever pulled my parents to the side and told them they thought something might be wrong with me. I can hardly remember growing up. Bits and pieces. I don’t remember having a speech problem. But I did run into Tom Tababta At the country market and even grown up he teased me. Studdard when I shook his hand and introduced myself. “sssscccooottt Cacaclllaarkk”. I spelled his name wrong UN purpose. Brought back bits and pieces. Being bullied is on my bucket list to write about. But today I’m trying to remember what was so bad David Crenshaw and I planned to run away. Our little kids minds were going to be like tom and huck build a raft and exit from the east end of beautiful Clarklake to where ever our little minds imagined. I can remember being grounded to my bedroom for at least two years. 5th and 6th grade. I was allowed to go to school. I wasn’t grounded for trying to run away but because I was doing badly at school. I was a terrible kid. “I’m Sorry”. David moved to Brooklyn. It became my plan to run away till it was exposed by my mom finding a duffle bag of food I had been stashing for the escape. I don’t remember what was so bad. I think it was being misunderstood. I remember talking with Brian Miller. “My parents wouldn’t get so mad at me if they just understood me”. Could no one understand me cause I wasn’t ticking right? I don’t know. I was always a small kid. So I was picked on and bullied. Maybe that’s why I wanted to run away. You ever just want to crawl under a rock? Some meds might have helped several teachers perform their job. Had the teachers known I was being lodged in my bedroom like a prisoner…. I don’t know.. I am me. I accept responsibility for everyone I’ve picked on. I don’t remember what I did to you “I’m sorry”. Kim Campbell, Brian Cochran, Corey? from Hyde road. Jeff Rhoda I’m sorry. I seen you at the Tibbs Pavilion and you wouldn’t shake my hand. I was rotten to you and You stirred my memory. “I’m sorry”. Not trying to put stuff on my dad. He watched me being bullied he told me “fight back.” If someone gives you shit whip their ass. “If you don’t think you can whip them” “Pick something up and hit'em with it.” I think I bullied on you guys because I could because you were younger. “I’m sorry”. You know you don’t grow out of some things. And as I drove past Michigan international speedway I thought why didn’t I punch Tom tabada right in the face as I shook his hand and he mocked me? He wouldn’t have seen it coming. Kim Campbell, Amy Kellie, and Marcie King I picked on you because crushed on you. “I’m Sorry”. My battery is failing me. Quickly I’m sorry to Mrs. foster. My mind could not do algebra. So I made your class harder on you and my classmates. I’ve never been hauled to the office so fast. I’m sorry! I don’t know that I was ever rotten to my 4th grade teacher Mrs. Robold. I do remember her sitting me down in a chair when all the other kids went out for recess. She sat me down and told me “you are going to have to learn to read”. Fourth grade shouldn’t I have been reading? My dad says he dropped out of school at 12 years old. Says he had slured speech and kids picked on him so bad he just quit going. That was my plan too. I remember how afraid I was in class to be called on to read out loud in class. Thank you Mrs. Robold! I do a little writing now. My kindle video includes four poems
I’ve written and recited by me.
I read scripture at mass, out loud.
I started attending St Mary's nine years ago. I've not been to church in so long I have to apologize to Father Paul and FatherJoe. Mass starts in four minutes.my-disclaimer.html?m=1
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