Poetry used to really be an important part of my life. It found me early, as I can remember the construction and printer paper books we'd make and how I would ask to stay in during lunch so I could write. For me it has always served a necessary function, a more cohesive way to work things out than any sculptures I made. Reading one's own work serves as more of a diary entry than the most blunt and poignant one to my name. Writing is a thoughtful, contemplative and patient exercise. It's no wonder I haven't written anything in a while.

Bought a pretty little journal to encourage myself to put ink to paper, to draft, something. It used to be such a part of who I was and how I viewed myself, but photographs were as well and I find myself without camera or robust body of work.

The first real infatuation with anyone I ever really had was over his words. He was/ is the strangest bird. He lives in town now, and I always hope to bump into him. In early early high school I met him, much older. He was a poet, a singular man the likes of whom I've seen nothing worth comparing to. He's also a musician of sorts. He had a CD that he gave out for the drama club senior dinner that year, which obsessive high school me pretty much knew by heart by the end of the summer. Somehow what he wrote communicated for him, and only hinted at the strange and fantastic things he had inside of him. Wrapped a string from a shirt of his around a plastic bracelet, painted it with clear fingernail polish and did not take it off until senior year, where I sort of broke it off of my arm in a ceremonial giving up of childish ways. Luckily we are all weird things. I want to be able to use poetry to help me communicate again. There's so much I feel like I wouldn't get to say otherwise.