I haven’t always known how to talk about my feelings, and so I began writing.

The first story I ever wrote was about a powerful beast with a three headed dog named Sirius. The giant terrifying woman was named Hagitha. Hagitha terrorized a village and was eventually brought down by the powerful magic of the wizard and the faith of the combined villagers.

Even at this young age of ten, I felt that if people believed in each other and sprinkled a little magic into the mix, amazing things could happen. I kept that sunny disposition going on, without ever becoming the wiser consciously that while I was writing so many stories on how one can be magical and conquer beasts, the beast kept coming back. No matter what happened with the slayings, I simply kept recreating a new enemy to defeat.

After a while I took a break on book writing and began to venture into poetry more wholeheartedly. for a long time my poems focused on all manner of things. Life, ideas, adventures, personifications of inanimate objects, and while all these things remained true, after a while, I began to unconsciously create a theme : Freedom

Just like that, once again I had created an unconscious enemy, for by seeking freedom, I found an enemy in the every day experience of my life. According to my poetry, I was not free.

The funny thing about poetry, and writing, is the inherent honesty within, and so, although I attempted to write about the myriad of people who were “keeping me down” more often than not I would write my about my own gateway being the self.

Writing has always saved my life, in that it is the most honest thing. I don’t write for myself, and yet I also write for no one else. I for so long wrote in code even, for fear of people deciphering my truths and persecuting them, all while headily screaming that one should always speak their truth. In some senses I began to feel very much like a hypocrite. This coupled with the fact that I couldn’t read a thing I wrote without noticing the inherent truths being presented over and over in increasingly obvious patterns led to this, what I would call a midlife crisis. In the midst of the golden years I find myself staring at coal and wondering what to do next. As if suddenly I have grown and aged to 60 without having exercised once. I am very over this story and narrative I keep telling myself, because its not true, there is always time to keep moving and a way to be free, and so, I just have to learn how to do that. every day stronger.

Here is my travel (life)

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