Writing began for me,

as it had for hundreds of other kids,

with a red marker and a brown desk,

Kindergarten teachers taught us how to scribe.

The first time I wrote outside the classroom,

was when I scraped my  knee while riding my bike.

You see, My blood was not red, illiterate, and thin,

the blood that rolled down my knee had words,

long, smart, beautiful words that were trapped in me and coursing through my viens.

Then I began to read, 

and these long, smart, beautiful words danced around me and made amazing sceneries and characters that were merely words themselves,

I created these words and these stories that mirrored what choas had began to formulate in my head.

the blood red marker ink that had rolled down my knee,

made my words long, short, ugly, beautiful, dumb, smart, deep, crazy, calm, amazing, horrific,

and above all my words had made me-

A Writer.