The last poem I wrote wasn't my best work I wrote it on January 1st of this year - 2005. It was a rushed piece of dribble, a little something, so I could say I had written something on the first night of the year. But I didn't take my time. With some things I take too much time, like fulfilling my dreams of creative writing, spirituality, and combining them both to teach and learn. And with other things I don't take enough time, like the first poem of the year or some of the stories I've been writing lately.

Earlier today, I went through some old writings from 1992 through 1994. I was a baby to creative writing during those years, even though I started when I was nine. It seems like habits of mine have unbelievably switched places. Back in 1992, I had a spark in me, a fire in my belly to write diligently every single day, even when I was sick, for at least two or three hours a day, at the very least, even with a full-time job and a part-time job. But the words I wrote didn't make much sense and when I went through the stories, they weren't from my heart…they were sad attempts to become marketable.

In the past couple of years, the fire has slowly but surely dwindled down to a few spits of spark every once in awhile when the mood strikes me. My habit for writing on a daily basis has faded away to some dark place, I can't seem to navigate these days. I thirst and hunger for that fire in my belly to come back, but on a equal playing field this time. Both in habit and in creative genius. I long for many days back to back of nothing but writing stories - both fiction and nonfiction, poetry, and essays that are pouring with my heart and my spirit, not with what's popular these days. And I yearn for that feeling again of excitedly setting my clock every morning to get up early, get some coffee and write my three or four page limit for the day.

I want to write a new poem, a new story, and a new monologue uncovering the truths of my life's experiences. I want to write in a new voice, a new style, a new language, that is all me - true to self, true to life, but uncommon to the masses.

I want to unfold within each line of my work again. I want to…NO, I need to…rekindle the fire.