If you really knew me you’d know that I’m pathetically full of anxiety. Sometimes it helps me perform well, other times I can’t think of anything other than each erratic breath sputtering in and out of my lungs. I can path these occurences back to being screamed at alot as a kid.

If you really knew me you’d know that if I merely think I just heard my name hollered my stomach drops and I momentarily freeze before realizing it was just a loud sound from a nearby radio or TV. This happens less frequently now in my young adulthood, but for a split-second I truly believe the owner of that angry voice is coming and I’m ten years old again— hopelessly incapacitated with panic.

If you really knew me you’d know that I get my poems published in the local newspaper often, and I humbly perform them at local venues. Most of the ficlys I write are intended to be spoken word. Sometimes listeners drown in the esoteric abyss of my mental confusion. And sometimes they like it.

Also I’m way, waay too nice.