Tim Evans

You have my permission
to draw pictures.

You have my permission
to hang them on the wall.

You have my permission
to look stupid,
feel foolish,
and allow yourself to wobble
like a child learning to walk.

You have my permission
to tell the truth on a sheet of white paper.

You have my permission
to burn it when you’re done.

You have my permission
to start something, forget about it,
and remember it again when
you’re half way through a novel
you’ve been meaning to read for years.

You have my permission
to ask me
who the hell I think I am
and why on earth
you would ever need my permission
for anything you wish to do.