We hold on to poetry because it lights a fire in our soul and keeps our bodies warm.

When I write...I am in the fond armsof a childhood friendupon whose colorful heart I can hang the charcoal drawingsof my woes.

some words bring warmthjust bybeing next to each other.

i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.

How....will I ever truly depict you?You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.

It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.