I have seen things I wish I hadn’t. I have done things I wish I could take back. I wonder why I am thrown into the thick of it all – why I had to suffer the way I did. And as I am sitting here alone and hurting, my conscience told me to pick up a pen in my hand and it gently remind me how the world has given me poetry and now I must give it back.
This is the start and I write for one purpose: Because you exist.