My poetry is real, an outlet for my feeling to spill my heart on empty pages, filling space with my spirit, tears falling in my imagination when the inspiration to write hurts, working my pen to express these feelings of the heart into a fine art, telling the truth in some parts, using creativity in others when I reach further into the well of emotion where the most intimate and painful experiences reside, the rising of the tide in the ocean, flowing between the heart and the mind, amazed sometimes of what I find to write about, things I wouldn’t say from my mouth, but it’s the truth from the roots of my soul and imagination, always facing the challenge of pleasing a reader when they feature what is written from my pen or pencil, being fantasy or real, its still a log of my thoughts and understandings, spanning over my life, lying in between these lines and pages, creating a history of what I like to do and what I’ve been through, building a book of truth.