A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.

I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.

Because it may seem like a small role now, but it matters. In the end, everything matters.

As a writer, my only responsibility is to tell a compelling story.

A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.

How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?

That’s what i love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff were your not sure what the poets talking about. You may have an idea, but you cant be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings. Is it a stand-in ―a symbol for another idea? Does it fit into a larger, more hidden, metaphor? ...I hated poetry until someone showed me how to appreciate it. He told me to see poetry as a puzzle. Its up to the reader to decipher the code, or the words, based on everything they know about life and emotions.