Talent - 2nd draft

My last attempt at his is here: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5ec4sq/talent/

Someone mentioned I should re-write it and try to shorten it and make it more poem like. So I did that. I didn't really shorten it, but I'm pretty sure it's more poem like.

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-Apparently we are all born with a talent.

-Sometimes it’s obvious. I mean, look at the 14 year olds who draw better than Da Vinci. Or the high schoolers who finish their first album, and it’s not a waste of a blank cd and paper lunch bag.

-They might just be good because they work hard. I couldn’t tell you. Mainly because I’m not one of those nerds.

-I’ve been told I have that natural talent. That I can do things well that most others can’t. I guess it’s a matter of opinion. Or a matter of wrong opinion. In my opinion.

-When I was a freshman in high school, back in..wow. 2008. I feel old.

-When I was a freshman, I painted a watercolor gryphon. Or griffin. Or gryffin. Spelling is weird. I painted the lion bird. And it actually turned out pretty good. Of course there is stuff I hate about it. “No, it’s good.” my friends assured. Don’t ask me where I found the skill. Dumb luck I guess.

-See, my family isn’t particularly artsy. Same deal with many friends. Well, that’s a lie. I know lots who are particularly artsy. But they are less “Let’s draw a gr(iff)---(yph)on.” and more “Here, have a listen!.” They prefer to sing scat to keys, while I scratch on trees.

-They seem to have this stain, the previously mentioned “Natural Talent” thing, staining every fiber and membrane. When one friend picks up a string, his brain goes ding, and ten minutes later, his fingers sing. It makes me want to swing a fist, but the last second I’d twist my wrist so I’d miss. Because I’m not a fan of pain, and I’d rather not punch a friend over something that petty.

-Back to the gryph..lion bird. I slacked off in class. I was so far behind. I listened, day after day, as my teacher wanted her way. I HAD to catch up with the other kids. I did what my goodie-two-shoes, awkward, acne riddled, terrified of adults self thought best. I went slower and played dumb. Not my best idea.

-I remember silently loading up my bag in the back of the classroom, as I realized I had much more homework than I wanted. I straddled the line between excitement and disdain, enticement and dismay. That night, the painting on my mind, I played video games.

-Saturday, I looked at the page, thinking about how to take it on. Then I played video games.

-Sunday, the day before it was due, I looked at it. I looked at it hard. Then I played video games.

-But something happened.

-Mother dearest rang out her vocal cords, signalling dinner. I spoke untruths about being nearly finished with my assigned work. Having been fed, I squeaked and squawked up the stairs with an abnormally large belief that I was an experienced burglar of sorts. And I began my work.

-My only company was a portable cd, and it’s companion ear buds. I had two cds, one was mine by right. The other? Stolen from a brother. The cd’s spun. Music sung. Over and over and over and over and over and I painted.

-It was fun. An odd feeling. To enjoy homework. Despite my attempts to hate it, my mind began to debate. “This is great!” “No, I am irate.” “But I get to create!” “Fine, have it your way.”

-I finished around 2 am. I was such a rebel. Staying up past my newly acquired 10:00 bed time.

-The next day I turned it in. Days passed before the teacher passed paintings to the class. I had passed! My C shined brighter than all the losers around me. With their A’s and their B’s. My C stood for cool. Cooler than their foolish portraits and landscapes.

-Now where did it come from? The talent or skill. I don’t know. Maybe beginner’s luck? Or a mass of tiny coincidences where some higher force moved the winds in my favor, making lines and strokes that pleased my optic sensors? Who knows?

-Where did it go? The talent or skill. I don’t know. Maybe vanished when I tried proper art? Or maybe the skill was repressed by aliens and I need to find it within myself to one day save the world by painting a new bird lion? Who knows?

-Where the fuck did it come from, cottoneye joe?

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https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5eiran/mining/dadelm1/ https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5efx96/spider_death/dadeymr/

the dashes are to help differentiate lines. Because reddit's format sucks. Thank you.