Someone Stole Something Sacred – Prose

I don’t remember, now, how my little group in high school (about 50 years ago) found out I wrote poetry.  I do remember guys and girls asking me to write love poems for them to give their girlfriends/boyfriends.  That was long ago and, thankfully, memories fade or become less painful.

I do remember my three-ring notebook/binder.  I hadn’t thought about that notebook in a long time.  Then, this week, I made an entry about a messy desktop and there were comments about people’s notebooks, etc.

I don’ t do notebooks any longer.  One day someone stole my poetry notebook from my locker.  I was about 16 so there must have been about 4 years of poetry in that notebook. Gone…and so I don’t do notebooks any longer.

Isn’t that odd?  That some kid would steal my poems from my locker?  When I think about how famous and rich stealing my poetry must have made them, I get very angry.  Hahaha!

I don’t do notebooks any longer.  I prefer to put my poetry on the internet fully aware that someone may steal it and not get rich or famous.  That’s not a thrilling thought either but at least it’s honest.  I’ve always given my poetry away or thrown it away.  I just hope who ever stole that notebook still has it…

I think I want to write a sonnet now. Or something mournful and morbid.  I wish I still had that one notebook.


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