"I cant make a poem and make it rhythm when its something real. Because real things don't fit into certain phrases or words that end in the same sounds. It ends with jagged pieces like an unfinished puzzled abandoned on the carpet of heavens gates. When its real its hard to put a label on the emotion. Its more like an explosion of fragments of feelings combined into a giant monster that can transform into something beautiful just as fast. Real is the combination of knowing hurt and giving it. Its the in between of dreams and nightmares. Its tears as well as smiles. Its the ones we love and the ones we use to love. Its all of our memories including the ones we want to forget. Real is life, real is us."