I've always expressed myself with words. I like images, and I like manipulating them, collating them, confronting people with them, but words have always been my soul. I had my first, and only, poem published when I was very young; about 10 or 11, I can't recall exactly. It was a very lame piece, but I was proud of it at the time.

I keep diaries. I have a poetry journal. Words are my saviour; my way to cry out in the darkness when no-one can hear.

Two women influenced me greatly in my love of writing, and my belief in my work. They were both English teachers. The first was my 8th grade English teacher. She nurtured me, my love of writing, and gave me great self-confidence in what was otherwise a really crappy time in my life. She helped me believe in myself again. The second was a hideous woman who was my teacher in 11th grade; a person who had no business being an educator. She had already made up her mind about me before I even stepped into her classroom. My English grade, which had consistenly been an A since I started school, became a D overnight, and stayed that way for the year, until I left her classroom and it became an A again.

I believe it was her intent to break me - to make me conform; I have always been different, inwardly and outwardly. Unfortunately for her, she just served to make me more determined. I am just happy the first teacher came before the second. One gave me eyes to see what I could do, and to love writing, the other made me determined to not waste it.

Raves

Terror Takes on a New Face
John Halcyon Styn
Lies, Dissent and Repression - The Kaycee Hoax
Work and Passion?
WTO, Seattle and People Power
I Have A Dream


Poetry