Poetry's a passion, not a sport; as athletic as one can be with a pen, it doesn't make friends like a football does. As a youth breaching adolescence, I was shipped off to a place that didn't foster the artist growing within. I only sought to be my own, but, as that was too much for friends and family, I cultivated my first crop of secrets.
Belonging is a hell of a drug. Those days it meant so much. While I'd love to say that’s changed, old habits die hard. I've grown accustomed to the cloak and dagger. In the dark, I have the freedom that comes without form. I am an infinite material, one that cannot be caged within the infrastructure of another’s perspective.