And its all come such a long way. From the pieces to the stencils to the tags. I wrote poetry in bathroom stalls, in library books, on crumpled up pieces of paper and to my Girlfriend[s] (but for the most part they never saw any of it, I was particularly crappy at opening myself up to people). I'd write, I'd tag, I'd pass around books of particular inspiration to me to strangers. I had a hard time being understood by anyone, but people got it. Somewhere, someone got it. Somewhere, someone cried. And somewhere, someone told me thank you. It was that reason, and that reason alone I kept trucking along.
I was pissed at the Government, but hatr