I am a poet.  Even when my writing is bland prose, and there is neither a rhyme scheme nor a meter to my words, I poeticize.  I see poetry in more than words.  Poetry is form; motion, or lack of motion.  It is life.  Consequently its stylizations are diverse.  Poetry is not an art because art is poetry.  It is from this heavily aesthetic cognitive state that I look out at the world, and poetry is the tool with which i attempt to interact with this world.  I am, thus, misunderstood.

The pain from this misunderstanding is not important.  Pain-filled poetry, though poignant, is empty.  I often forget this, when I am hiding from people who see life as a mechanism and we the involuntary parts and cannot show them that even this is poetry.  Struggling with social rejection made me cold for years, until only recently I began to open to my peers.

Before, I was weak.  I shut down when too many pieces scrambled my thoughts.  I could not handle unsavory poetry.  Now it becomes easier to withstand this poetry and find its points of worthiness.  It is difficult, but I find that being understanding helps make others' life-poetry into something beautiful.

I am imperfect.  At times I still succumb to frustration and hide form life and humanity, but the more time I spend in the presence of the poetry of other souls, the harder it is to turn my back on painting with words.