Self portrait formed through words.
My mother is a gypsy. Her mother told her so.
My father is a proud American. His father told him so.
I am neither gypsy nor proud.
I question most, and answer few.
Taking strides in ways that I see fit.
I’ve got tiny little strings weaved into my heart.
Sometimes, I like to pluck them.
I’m very uncertain, but always so sure.
A walking conundrum; A colorful spectrum.
My words spew out of order.
A confusing sequence, that makes little sense to you and means just about everything to me.
My vision is seen much better through a lens.
I have a voice that speaks more freely on paper.
Structure is my anti-christ and i have a big problem with logic.
Logically, structure works.
I often ignore technicalities so i can create my own technique.
My life,My method,Myself.
I Create, because everyone else told me i couldn’t.