Just an Old Photo  

That's me when I was in high school. I was sitting in front of an old piano. I couldn't play well, mostly a few chords. But it brought me words for my angry poetry. Of course some of it was about my hopes and dreams. Some of it reflected the emotions of my depression. Those were the days of my rebellion to every form of authority. I was living in a world of darkness with out any light. But my soul awoke and cried out to God.

I was a young man and wounded. I was filled with pain and anger. My stepfather had killed my mother's spirit and she toolkto many pain pills. I smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. My stepfather put me down, but he couldn't kill my spirit. My father had died and I was alone in the world. 

But my debate coach and teacher was an iron woman. She was short but she stood tall , stood up for me. She became my mentor and she saved my life. She motivated me by requiring me to do my best. Soon I became an A student. I feel in love a year later to a red haired girl who knew how to write love poetry.

I left for college and she stayed for her senior year in high school. But when she came to my college our parents broke us up, because she was a catholic and I was a protestant. They threatened to take her out of college. The poetry I wrote about our love's end became a modern dance. My emotions and my experiences were on stage for every to see and the theater was packed and my poetry was given voices and dance moves.

Just an old photos, a vision of me, that takes me back to my old wounds, anger and pain. I can feel all of that when I look at the photo of me.

Curtis