In the 1980s, I was a teenager trying to find my place in the world. Poetry was one of my coping mechanisms. In love: I hoped. I dreamed. I imagined. I experienced. In life: I struggled. I hated. I cried for help. I hoped. I overcame. I could be complex. I could be simple. I could be powerful. Misunderstood. Frustrated. In other words: A confused teenager using words to help cope. There was often beauty in that.