Poetry is the goosebumps you get after one reliving sip of coffee, as you sit out in the chill of November. poetry is the tears that flow from a woman's eyes as she watches her husband being lowered six feet under. Poetry, in all of its purity, is evil in a simple verse. Grabbing at our souls and strumming the most intimate strings of our hearts.

I can not simply tell you what poetry is; because it lives, BREATHES in everything we do. As you lazily lounge on the beaten up leather sofa that you hate, but can't afford to replace, poetry sits on your brow and plays with your messy hair. Whispering heartfelt memories and ideas into your naive mind. As you curl into a ball, hoping and praying for a nights sleep without nightmares, poetry is clawing its way into your dreams, giving you the feeling of peace and calm as you slip off into the dark. As you look out your window only to see drug dealers and pimps parading around proudly, poetry is the common sense that keeps you off the slum coated streets. And as you sit alone in your bedroom, feeling helpless and broken, poetry is the creeping feeling of hope that slowly swells within you, and makes you feel like there indeed IS a purpose to life... I feel as if I can not stress the idea enough, for there is so much more to it than it seems. The depth of the matter is overwhelming, shocking even. Once poetry seeps into your once unblemished skin, it's like some sort of cancer; building and building inside of you. Growing like a field of weeds, each seed planted being a new dream, or a new idea. Once poetry starts to weave itself into your core, it doesn't stop. The fluent wave of vocabulary and spirit slinking their way into your very own persona, until the creativity beings to leak from your cracked surface.