I am a writer. I write for the blind that once did dream, the souls that once did live. I write to teach lessons to the children of such an interesting world and, its sweet bliss. Words swarm in my mind, travel through my warm blood; to the motion of my hand all the way to my finger tips. Hands that write the words that have accompanied my confounded young mind. Then another world  is created. A world that I can control with the wave of my brown hands. Eyes that still wonder beyond the suns horizon. To search and explore the worlds wonders. Then I write. I write of love, pain and heart ache. I write about the past, the future and the things that are trapped beyond the doors of my mind. So I write to cope with my feelings. I write to show others that they are not alone. I write because, thats who I am; a writer that creates worlds yet can also destroy them with the wave of my hand. I am a writer.