I remember why I started to write poetry. Not because I loved the beauty and skill of the art itself but because I couldn't help but write down what was whirling around in my head, It was almost like a nervous tick that I was unable to control without spilling my guts onto the page. Of course it began crudely with no real understanding of what poetry really was, but I was captivated from the beginning, the written word had caught me in its trap and I was helpless to resist. All I needed was some clue as to how I could organise my thoughts into something resembling a poem. But I was impatient, and with the added intrusion of unreciprocated love I simply wrote what I felt and sent it off to the poetry section of the local news paper. Surprisingly they accepted a couple of them, they were both shit, but I got such a kick out of seeing them in print. I've been searching for that feeling ever since.