i cannot explain the feeling of holding a book of things i scribbled. i do not open it, can not bare to hear my own voice. but i know the words. can see her in my mind, and all i can do is hope to capture her beauty in the next one.

poetry is for everyone. we just have to find someone whose words touch our soul, that resonates with the secret places inside of us all. this is my latest attempt. there have been plenty of kind words given for this collection by the few who have picked it up so far, and they are appreciated. you don’t pursue a dead art for fame and riches, but to try and change the world one line at a time. i balance out the lies of fiction with the unflinching truth in poetry.

thank you for coming along for the ride, dear reader.