A member of a collective-trying to make sense of the world and the the people that live in it.
Once upon a time, I was a not so nice person, I am survivor of the streets. The streets and the violence of them held me captive for a very long time. Suzerain. Fueled by drugs and alcohol and a broken heart, the streets and violence became a part of my life for a very long time.
I began my journey into the land of the living when I in Paris. Young. Free. Unhindered by the suit and tie world of North America, I began to see people as they really were. Just people. Some good and some bad. True, I had also discovered a God that cared about ‘me’. Not about what I could do for him, or any of the crap that clings and wraps itself around religion, but He cared, about me. I thought that was pretty cool.
Poetry is a tool to discover those linkages that I have. To God. To the past. The future and to you.
Our realities are changing everyday. What about yours?
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- Paris, France: a cultural guide (telegraph.co.uk)
- Spoken Word At Culture Rapide (vingtparismagazine.com)
- Letter From Paris: Graffiti No.2 (betharnold.com)
- “Cloud streets” feather North America’s storm-lashed eastern coast (scientificamerican.com)
- Poet at Horace Mann 1-27-11 (poetry4kids.com)