On taking control.

I have friends. Some of whom suggest that I remain docile. In my approach to life. To be more complacent. To not allow stuff to bother me. Often, I acquiesce. And do precisely that.  Behave. Like a good boy. And pretend. That there’s nothing I really can do. To deal with problems over which I have no control.  But that’s baloney. Because I have opportunity to take control. Maybe only in small ways. But that’s a beginning. Merely by expressing myself. By exercising my freedom of speech. That’s why I became a writer. At a very young age.  I had to get it all out. By telling my mother.  My father. My siblings.  What I am all about. What I am feeling. Intellectually. Emotionally.  That’s how I came to better understand the most coveted and durable emotion of all. Love. I began to compose my own unorthodox love sonnets.  In letter form. In my way.  In my style. And not always in writing. To do it all spontaneously. Intimately. In the presence of a loved one.  Gives me a sense. Of having taken control. Of my life. Yes, it was meant to be. --Jim Broede