Sometimes I think about the past
When my hair was thicker
My reflexes were quicker
And I could tolerate liquor
Then I think I'm somewhere in the middle
Between giving up
Giving in
Too hard to win
On a good day
When the air is moist
And I have a little extra time
I think about nothing at all
But the tolerance is small
And I often have to sneak out
So's to have time with me
Sometimes I think about the past
Like a looking glass
I'm there somewhere
Sitting beneath the trees
My foot perched on my knee
Nothing but a sketch book and me
Feeling so free

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I am currently studying Italian language and culture. Through trade school I am formally trained as a commercial artist and graphic designer, but when I attended the Art Institute of Boston, I received my first A in creative writing; the librarian said my short stories were a visual painting with words. Another English teacher said I should be a writer and was English my first or second language? I laughed and said first, but inside I was embarassed because I am a terrible speller and spell by sound not rule!