I’ve learned that everything that defines me is nothing that I actually embody, except for creating magic with the stroke of a pen. Maybe that’s a red flag. Maybe I’ll ruin you with the wonderings of if you’ll simply just be my next project. Or maybe I’ll help you finally see in color, showing you how to paint pictures with euphoric colors even when using just black ink.

The thing about poets is that we’re always searching for inspiration. I won’t hesitate to take your flaws and turn them into art on a page. I will try to figure you out through pen and paper, rather than speaking my mind. Because maybe in the midst of discovering you, I’ll discover myself. Maybe if I write enough, I’ll finally figure out who I am.