I was born April 24 1949.
It was a Sunday, 4.05 pm.
Zodiac signs: Sun in Taurus, Libra rising –
I’m ruled by Venus! And I’m left-handed.
My mom was born in 1914, zodiac sign Virgin.
My dad was a Scorpio, born the year after her.
My dad was skinny, mom was short and plump.
They lacked parenting skills and died not mourned.
I have two sisters, both out of my life. Still living.
I have a son and he will mourn me one day.
I haven’t accomplished much and lacks social skills.
I suffer from fibromyalgia.
I’ve been a loner since my youngest years.
My writing passion came in the early twenties.
I never wanted anything else in this world but
to be a poet – and that’s what I am.
I haven’t received much respect during life.
And still I stumbles over patronizing people.
Appalled they promptly rate my writing, calling
my poems “private” stuff and “private” feelings.
I could inform about my writing process.
(I could also tell them to go to hell.)
But people are inspiration, if not more.
I know by now I am an able writer.
If you want me, you can have me – but that’s all.
I can be loved and liked, forsaken or stalked.
But what has been – I want to leave behind.
I’m 65 today and the road is open.