I’ve had many people come to me and tell me how much they appreciated my raw approach to writing. I never really thought about it until now, but it’s the only way I know how to write.

There have been many times I’m on the road driving through the majesty of the green mountains and in my head, I’m reciting a poem to write down later. I’m looking at the fields of wildflowers and begin to well up from the sheer unadulterated way they sit. The way the colors are all mismatched and messy, I find it beautiful.

I write what I see, what I feel, how I’m processing a moment. It’s just how I express my human emotion. Maybe I’m good at doing this because any other expression of emotion scares me.

I’m afraid of what I may do when allowing my anger to come out towards another person instead of on paper. What would I do to myself if I were to hold in the thoughts I have with myself alone? I don’t know.

I guess writing has become my art form, a way in which I can feel my soul. It is a scribe to every part of my being, wanting to be heard. I am the scribe to my own human experience.