Word the paradise in which I exist. My world scream to me with a hungry that only words can fulfill. I question my observance when I’m writing how can you describe this with the expressions you give it? Where the action is felt in my lines on paper better than my own mouth. I write and it scare me. Putting words to the beat of my heart. Turning life in steps of mathematical equations that goes against its own law. It could be worst I could be destructive with my mind creating micros that would destroy the human race. Or I could politically coning you to buy into my version of a great America. I just write my feelings whatever they maybe. Whatever God I serve, whatever hell I’m in, whatever life has taken with its pound of flesh. I cannot tell you how I write only why I write. Most people would see those word and think she just stated the same thing. While writers would know the different. Why I write to breathe to live to begin to end to dream. My writing could be impersonal or delicate. It could make you wet all over with release or freeze paralyze with angry. It is not special and different just unique with its eccentricities. It drive me irrational to know that I’m haunted by my word. Just to discover world with pen to paper or is it paper to pen. I only tell you that I write not for approve, not to sin, not even to go against society. My writing is only to let the little people in my head out. Giving them a home on paper. What if you’re reading this then you know me I have an endless need to be admitted. So I will forever be behind the glass looking out of a window.