I am not the product of my past.  I am not the sum of my experiences.  I am not a mindless pawn to be toyed with by some unknown entity.  I am a conscious and creative human being.  My world is of my own making, formed by my desire, thought and will made manifest.  I exist, creating life where others see death, molding joy from the pieces of shattered hearts, reaching into the blackest pit of despair and extracting hope.  I live because I will it so.  Any who does not accept this for themselves leaves untapped an infinite potential.

 

To say I am a writer is presumptuous; I am no master of words.  To say I am an artist is foolish, for art exists independent of my effort.  I could even take for myself the title of poet, but my greatest work is nothing more than an over-simplified representation of the incredible beauty all around.  Instead, I will say that I am a man, striving to express through the medium of the written word my intimate experience with life.