May I Please

Scrittura’s Wednesday prompt

writing, residing, retiring

How many years must a writer write — before they’re deemed to be free?
How often do I hear myself counseling those kids who are— my generation behind? Want to be a writer? Say it loud, proud, with a growl.

How many roads must a writer walk down, or though, before they’re ready —
to ask the question: “don’t you want me baby?” I can be your savior, your sinner; I can make your dreams of institutional glory come true.

How many days must a writer wait before they ask the overwhelming question? I can Give The People What They Want. I can be their soul salvation — just hold on, I’m comin’. I can Do It, Again. At My Old School.

How many lives can a writer live before they’re asked, instead of asking —
will you be our writer-in-residence? Will you work for benefits and reduced pay? Will you stay or will you go? Are you ready to sit right down?

Or will you walk out that door?

If I had the confidence to win your love.

If I were your writer; if you were my home.

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