Does your completed wurk look as if it were tiped while wearing a baceball gluv? That liddle red, squigley, line that often appeers
beneeth a  wurd, shows up for a reeson. A signal that something "just ain't right." Weather a speling or punkshuashun issue,pay attenshun to it.

A mispeled wurd can distract the readers attenshun froom the subject of the peece, and creates a very uneezy reed.

Keep a dicshunery near you're desk.

Go bak and refresh when to us too 'C's, too M's", (dubble consanants)etc.

Know you're "valves" a-e-i-o-u.

Know where to place an apocolipse when writing a contractshun(can't, don't)..................

Use the correct wurdes!!

Know the diffrance between "Their", and "There."

A dicshunary can also prevent having to exit a wurk, and risk losing it by forgeting to save it.

Pay attentshun, PLEEZE!

copyright: richard riddle-10-07-15

Thanks,
richard riddle

Mkay so I cant spel,
sue me wat the hel!
Mown like an old gramar
who is stuk in payamas.

Jus leev me an let me be three

>:(

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"So the thing is, the thing is. And that thing is this:

I live in a bit a blurr (a bit of, sorry), I can think (can’t, sorry), I am forever interested in disillusion (how am I still breathing?). What are grammar, what is speling, spieling all the **** I used to feel so burn in stomach; I used to be so alive.

Maybe it was the Dramamine I took in bed this morning with twice my scrip of xanaxian colored pillz devouring like candy yum how delicious is it to disappear, I am in love with the Nothing of it all (I’m no nihilist, though, no.)

For example, for proof, I shall explain how yesterday I had a long beautiful walk along the water with lovely friends and we laughed and I even ate healthy even though I did drink (how many nights of the week do I? Don’t ask, please, but it’s New York, that’s what we all do — right, that’s what we all do?)

But I’m not a sad girl, I’m not a sad girl anymore, I’m just a blurred girl now, I can’t even see myself straight, how do I expect anyone to see me. (Should there have been a question mark after that.)

Switch lines like knives’ eyes (wait, what kind of line, literary or otherwise?) I try to focus on pages, I try to focus on work, but all I can do is mutter and mispell misspelll twice and attempt to convince myself (and you, sir, lady) that I’m perfectly fine. Italicized.

The truth is (and here’s the crazy part) I actually am fine, I actually am fine for the first time in a long time, I’m mostly actually amazing and ecstatic and all those great ALL CAPS words we toss around in life on phones in text like little sweet congrats donuts, but I guess the truth is that I’m also something else, I’m also volatile, I’m both happy and a mess, I’m just in progress, I guess. I’m honest, I’m honest, I’m not hiding this time behind a second person narrative (god how comforting those babies are).

No, this time, I’m just telling the truth, and the truth is the thing; and the thing is, I am better than I’ve been in a while except in certain small moments when everything collapses inward crushing down, and in these moments, I am helpless and hapless and less than everything I want to be. I want to be perfect, you know. I want to happy all of the time.

I want every day to be like yesterday.

But today is not. Today is just wrongly prescribed glasses making everything all hazy glazed over, today is just overused parentheticals explaining things to people who don’t need to be explained to.

Feel free to hate me, I do sometimes. Feel free to love me, I do sometimes. Feel free to vindicate me / indicate me / masticate me in crunching acid commentary.

but GUESS WHAT

today is just today

tomorrow will be tomorrow

(obligatory obvious, sorry)

But it all adds to the very bones of the thing which is: this moment I want to ***** up all my self indulgent sadness and be okay, but I cannot do anything but snuggle it in corners into words and have faith that the other end of the daylight holds a girl in sharper focus than this one"

What I am.







A filthy mess

Ugly
Rude
Aries
Transgender
Acne and anxiety
RIDDEN
accident
PRONE
.
W!!!O!!!R!!!T!!!H!!!L!!!E!!!S!!!SS!!!


­
SPECIAL SKILLS:
jumping a rope 3 times
Forgetting my pills
Mispelilng wrods






What I am not


(THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I AM)





Clean (NOT !!! ADDICTED !!!)
handsome
Kind hearted
Libra
NATURAL !!! BORN !!! MALE !!!
MENTALLY STABLE
SPELING BEE CHAMPEEON
MUSCULAR
LADYKILLER
POPULARGOODLOOKINGBEAUTIFULLOVEDLOV­EDLOVEDIAMNOTLOVEDBYMYMYSELF,PEERS,ORFAMILY.


SPECIAL ******* SKILLS

GETTING MYSELF BEAT UP EX.) BEINGSELFDISTRUCTIVE//NOTLEAVINGMYABUSIVEFUCKINGRELATIONSHIP//NOTKEEPINGMYFUCKINGMOUTHSHUT
CONSTANTLY TRYING TO **** MYSELF WHEN IM AFRAID OF DYING
EATING LIKE A ******* PIG

DEAR GOD, DO I EAT. I EAT///EAT///EAT///
IM A FAT PIG-***** WHO CANT EVEN WRAP HIS FINGERS AROUND HIS ANKLES OR SEE HIS BONES, HIS VINES OF IVORY SHIMMERING IN THE MOONLIGHT, NOT BEING ABLE TO STRUM MY DELICATE RIBS LIKE A HARP
I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///I///WANT///TO///BE///SKINNY///

but oh well i guess.

   j

Poets are just authors
who get straight to the point
at least that's what my teacher
told me once

I don't know if I believe it
I'm an author too, sometimes
and others it just seems better
for poems, for prose, for rhyme

Sometimes I wonder if
The earth is really rounded
or if it's just a oblong
distant lands and distant seas

I like poetry because with stories
They want you to make sense
and with poems you can
just go and go and go

I like poetry because
my prose is all that's judged
not my grammer or my speling
or anything at all

Perhaps it's all too clever
so poetic, so in tune
Artistic and amazing
so clear and so immune

I feel immortal with my poetry
with my rhymes and with my nots
All the way to everything
All the way to nothing

Life is a poem
Of metaphors
     And accidental
Speling mistakes.

But what is life if we don't learn.