Can a poet be happy, I truly wonder?Except as a temporary passing whimIf she decides, weary of angst,To allow mundane happiness in.Poetry, for me, means a flight of my soulSoaring past the limits society holds.I exult in joy, and bleed
People call me a pessimist
When I am faced with a new uncertain situation, and feel nervous or apprehensive, I comfort myself by imagining the very worst thing that can happen. I really let my imagination loose, toppling buildings, angry infernos, crashing tsunamis get considered.