Living on the Edge

Every time I could not breathe, I wrote. 

Every time I could not live any more, I wrote. 

Every time I gave up, I wrote. 

Every time I loved too much, I wrote. 

To me, writing is synonymous with breathing. 

My poetry isn’t your polished fancy bouquet that is hand-delivered. It is that wild flower swaying to the rough northern winds and still surviving, oblivious to the world outside but dancing to its own rhythm.