Writing is breathing, flowing, bleeding. It has strength overpowering and grace ever fleeting. It takes the most of us, the best of us, the worst parts and the deepest hearts. Poetry falls off the pen like ink spilled, lines filled, emotions killed. It drips off the rooftop like rainstorms in Spring, like dew from grass blades, like snowmelt from the Escalades. Bringing words to the page is not something equational, it’s not rigid and it doesn’t cost at all. Writing is something that resides inside of you, it takes over your emotions, like riding in a canoe. The river has many paths, many directions to choose. Writing is not something that you can loose. It’s not a battle that needs to be won, more like a song that needs to be sung, from the lung it explodes and in the ear it is rung. It vibrates the drum and excites the numb. All of a sudden life is in color, you can stand in the dizziness and feel ten inches much taller. It’s when the dumb make writing boring that excites the pen all the more, to advocate for the lost and restore the lore. Bring them to the door, have them open it wide, have them see the beautiful, the simplistic inside. Writing is for everyone, not just the elite, it has the power to make bitter or the resolve to make sweet. Take writing with you, wherever you go, and let the love of writing, your words overflow.