How many poets, indeed… At this point, billions.

I was always attracted to the poets in my literature classes, even if my teenage self often made fun of their works. (Sorry Emily Dickinson, you were too abstract for my pubescent brain).

It always felt like they had a magical quality to their work and art. I admired it and would attempt to emulate the poets, with varying degrees of success. You’re spot on when you say that our voice takes time to mature.

Music has always come easy to me, but the magnetic pull I’ve felt towards my inner poet has always been a source of tension. It’s muffled and obscured. I can’t hear it like I hear the intervals of notes and chords. I don’t know what it’s trying to say, but I certainly feel it.

I hope I am nurturing the voice so that one day I can let shout from the rooftops. Your words provide continuous support in that endeavor, so I can’t thank you enough for what you do!