I am in love with the art of writing because just like a sweet biting it serves me with little pleasure. When i am under pressure, i take my brittle pen and jot down my frustrations, it’s normally the end of my desperation as i formally kill any anomaly thereon and proceed to a place of peace and serenity, a heed for integrity.

Like a surprise birthday party every time I write a poem I am left on an improvised high. I rely on that sugar to take me through the day. Like a smitten cougar am never too old for the literature, if anything it makes me younger. I get stronger by the ability to turn to the art when am in turn burned and bruised. I not only get excused but amused.

I am in love with the art of writing because it is the purest of all forms. Like a deadly storm in stands out from all the disasters of life. It never lies like the words of a broadcaster but always tries to redefine expression. In aggression, it is our utmost use of spoken word that we hide our true feelings. But in dealing with it, some sort to the art of writing.

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