A Poetic Journey Through Life is a collection of poetry that flourished from feelings held deep inside while I pursued a degree in the field of communications at Prairie View A&M University. These feelings surged forth and became a volume of rhyming verse that centers on love and the happiness or sorrow that it brings.

This book of poetry creates an awareness of such issues as spousal abuse, violence, addiction and single parenting. It also contains poems about lust, anger frustration, marriage, death and a host of other things that everyone regardless or race, creed or color face. I hope it will not only touch hearts and engage minds, but that it will inspire others to take an active role and help right so many of the wrongs that plague American society.

One evening during my undergraduate years at Prairie View A&M, I truly began to understand William Wordsworth's definition of poetry. Powerful feelings of homesickness struck me and burst forth on a blank sheet of paper. For the first time, I had given birth to a literary form that has been around for ages. Prior to the experience that I'd received studying literature in school, I'd never attempted composing a poem that did not deal with schoolwork. Though, I was only an hour away from home; it cleansed my head and heart to purge myself on paper. Once the poem was completed, I was amazed that I composed it.

This was quite a discovery to make at the age of nineteen, considering the fact that I was an engineering major. Soon, I realized that engineering was not my calling after a terrible semester so I became a communications major. Many people entering the field of communications select broadcast journalism, but I didn't desire to be seen on television or heard on the radio. I selected print journalism. Besides, print journalism allowed me to do something that I enjoyed so well -WRITE.

After completing my degree, I began teaching high school journalism, which issued me a bit of a challenge because I never had anything to do with a yearbook, but I knew that I could handle it with a little help from the senior yearbook staff. Producing the school's yearbook followed the same principle as publishing the newspaper. What complicated the job of high school journalism advisers is blending the capacities of teaching, the technical aspects and sponsoring. Though, I love the task of being a high school journalism adviser; it takes me away from my dream of being a full time writer. Therefore, I must put teaching aside to pursue my dream. Because when dreams cease to exist, we fail to find a reason for living.

Each of my friends and I have a specific gift. One of my friends is a mainframe computer. The other friend is a protector. I provide them with the life that turns this machine from steel to flesh. Though, I can't determine your place in the world as a poet or politician not can I protect you with the force of Jackie Chan; I work closely with my other friends to make sure that you make all of the right decisions.

My size depends on whether I am in the male or female form. However, I tend to be larger in the male form and smaller in the female form because of the frame. Like a battery, I keep the machine working by pumping acid to all of the vital parts in the engine. Needless to say, I function in the same manner in both forms.

The White House can not compare to the structure that I am. I'm a mansion with 4 main chambers that house the invisible connection between myself and other two friends. I call my first room, the Rainbow Room. This room feels like Houston during the summer. Of course, its walls are covered with many rainbows that have the brightest hues imaginable. You need sunglasses to look at the red, blue, green, yellow, orange and pink colors.

Inside you relive your first crush, the first time you said, "I love you" to your boyfriend or girlfriends and your wedding day. When these blissful memories fade, you find your parent, siblings, cousins, uncles and aunts wait for you with a smile on their face. You are bathed in hugs and kisses by your spouse and closest friends. Your mother beckons you in and says, "Welcome to the Love Room. Have a seat and leave the door open."

The freezing temperature of Alaska in winter is a walk in the part compared to the Black Room. Unfortunately, everyone has passed through this room once of twice in their lifetime. There are no portraits in the room. There are no windows. No one waits in this room. There is only darkness. It is a temporary safe have for the rejected, but become the home to the homeless, abused or mentally disturbed.

The Red and Blue Room are as different as night and day. Anger and frustration are unleashed in the Red Room. If they are not released, they build up and destroy me. Inspirations of Louis Armstrong, Langston Hughes, Lorraine Hansberry and Dorothy Dandridge pushed others into the Blue Room where a passion for one's work lives. If you can't survive with sketching a picture or scribbling a note down for a poem or a book, you can stay in this room as long as you want.

My other friends nicknamed as the Peter Piper of the group because people always neglect their first thought and follow me instead. I possess a rhythm that is steady as a drum. People say that love is blind, but I happen to believe that love feels warmth and tenderness. It has patience and understanding. It exudes sensitivity and kindness. Most importantly, love is forgiving. It destroys hate. Love, my friends, is not blind.