she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn't feelalone.

I felt I could turn the earth upside down with my littlest finger. I wanted to dance, to fly in the air and kiss the sun and stars with my singing heart. I, alone with myself, was enjoying myself for the first time as with grandest company.

Struggling alone, like the everyday and ending with the same fate.

When you are convinced that what you offer is yours, whether it be mediocre or of standard quality, your originality will make people love you in a way you did not expect.

Writing is such a solitary occupation that it takes a long time to build up a group of professional peers with whom you genuinely identify.

5.57am and I__ finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn__ get much easier.