I wrote this brief poem after an exercise in my acting class where i had to speak to someone someone i loved but was hurt by, i began talking to my partner as if he was someone i knew.

April two-thousand and eleven

I've been wrting since i was eight years old.
Not because i had to, not because school required me, but because something was aprked...when and how i can not recall.
All i remember is sitting in the back of that silver Ford, legs dangling like stopslights in a Florida rain storm, scribbling away into the composition book on my lap.
I Am twenty now, and i an no where near the writer i want to be...but as i read old work i find silvers of faith that one day i can be...but what will it take? Catch another spark.
that's what i tell myself.
Once its caught, fan the flames, let it burn, burn baby burn...
But sparks rarely come out of the blue...there must be friction, there must be action, driving forces.
Stones, and the right kind, must be applied.
What stones?
Life experience, adventure, misadventure, literature, nature, the open road, love, love lost, desires, failure, success, effort, free falling slothfulness..
A step backward may be a step forward. Your future may be in the arms of your past.
Life is still happening whether or not you live. Emotions are moved even if you dont feel.
Words exist whether or not you write.

I choose to live, i choose to feel, and i choose to write.
And because i chose to write, it makes me a writer.