(Kim Jackson) - Some years ago (I won't say how many), my friends and I would transform my backyard into our own personal performing arts school. We had grown tired of the board games, card games, and we had outgrown the plastic figurines that we could never be. But, we would get out there and sing songs from 'The Wiz' and 'Annie' (don't judge...even Jay-Z used 'Annie'). We would perform little made up skits; we were our own very low budget soap opera. One day we could be sisters and the next we would be roommates. It was, as they say, some of the best days of my life.

 

You see...it helped that I had a mother that fueled and catered to my artistic side. I don’t know many people my age that can say that they saw 'Ain't Misbehavin’ with Nell Carter; or how many even know what it is. She took us on cattle calls (auditions open to the public). She took us to plays at the theatres that had little productions mainly held by college students. I think she was a bit dismayed when she discovered that I suffered from stage fright.

 Now, having set the stage (so to speak); it's amazing how this love of the Arts didn't fully come of age until I had done the same. You see…I took that love and it became an interest. Yes, I was interested in writing. Never mind that I would write short stories when I had devoured all the books in the house (including the dictionary and encyclopedias) and momma couldn’t take me to the library. Yes, I was interested in plays and musicals. Even though I think I've seen 'Westside Story', 'Carmen' (and no...not the one with Beyonce...seriously?), and 'The Sound of Music' a hundred times; each. Yes, I wanted to dibble in photography and dabble in painting...but my life took another turn.

 I did some college...nothing to do with the Arts. I got married. I became a mother. And my love didn't fully return to me until a few years ago. And because of the life that I've led and the things that I had been exposed to; we had so much to talk about, develop into, and become. Yes; I talk about the Arts as if it were a person. But it is; a very much beloved and passionate part of my life. Honestly, we are having a very torrid love affair and our children are my poems, short stories, columns, and book(s) to be.

 Now, I know you’re sitting there saying…um, that's somewhat interesting, but why is she telling me this? Simple. Right now, I am plotting my escape. You see...the Arts is tired of taking a backseat to my professional life and wants to be the main squeeze. So, in order for us to be able to run away together for an annual trip to Paris (France...not Kentucky), we've come up with a plan. Now, keep it on the low because that ugly, grey, ergonomic chair that I sit in Monday thru Friday might catch wind of this. And right now, that chair, no matter how ugly, and its family members (computer, four line phone, fax machine, scanner, and all the office supplies you can steal…not that I do) are paying the bills. We're going to work together, as we've been doing for years; but this time, we're really pushing for more. It’s not that I hate my job...but that's just it; it's a JOB. And yes, I'm grateful for it. But, I know that I should be using my love, talent, and resources to live the life that I should be living. Not hopping in the car every morning, fighting traffic, to answer phones and emails for VERY unappreciative people; but, to walk out onto my balcony or a secluded beach, taking a good strong whiff of natural inspiration, and create something that my mother would be proud of…and of course, pay the bills. Can you imagine it? Doing what you absolutely LOVE and getting paid to do it?

 It's like a movie. The establishment telling the wayward lovers that they will conform and to throw away their dreams and the lovers making plans to steal away in the night and run away together. Think about it. Are you really where you're supposed to be? How are you going to get out? My plan is in place…and I'm excited. I’ve made up my mind that we will escape and that ugly grey chair will not stop us. You see, the Arts and I have things that we want to do and it has someone that it wants me to meet; an extremely loved relative, The Louvre. And I know it sounds a little dramatic (did you even read any of what I just said?), but if I can't write...I can't breathe. And if I can’t breathe; I’ll die. The worse thing that could happen to me sitting in this ugly chair? A paper cut, a staple stab, or a deeper cut from some fresh manila folders; all of which I've had and all of which hurt like a S.O.B.

 

As I...

(a love letter)

 

It is a feeling of indescribable elation

A multifarious mixture of heat and cold

Rising goosebumps on my epidermis

Directing my fingers and my mental pen

 

As I put into formation the words of my creation

 

It is my inner child jumping for joy

A smile of nostalgia crossing my features

Memories racing through my mind

To reach my left region with the softest of touch

 

As I run my fingers across the golden embossed 'Webster's"

 

It is the tears I hold and the tears I let fall

As a lump forms and tightens vocally

When I decline the opportunity to say what I feel

Writing the words trapped by my larynx

 

As I wear my heart on paper and not my sleeve

 

It is the offering of my treasured

Sharing the pictures painted in my mind

And the emotions placed in my spirit

Giving of myself lyrically with His blessings

 

As I bow my head in gratitude for the gift He has given me

 

It is the beat of adoration and affection

Pumping what is arguably ink in my veins

Hearing the crisp turn of a phantom page

Relishing in the scent of that new book smell

 

As I carry my love with each breath and every step I take.

 

Diamond

© Feb/2010