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To know you're destined to write poetry, I think a poet needs to find a meaning to his or her own life in everything they see, read or hear. Be it simply opinion, or great revelation. Since I was around 12, I've loved Kerouac's On The Road. I'm not a huge fan of American Literature per say, but I find more heart and soul in Ginsberg and Kerouac than any other American writer. To me, Mary Lou, a character pretty much missing from the end of the story, is the ideal lover. Not because of the ability to have sexual orgies, but because it bothers her that Dean does this, and also that she feels her love is destined to be elsewhere despite being married. For the period this was set, this is a risky move for a woman. And I respect that and adore the character for it. When I wish for someone to be loved and respected; I wish for them to find their Mary Lou. May she be waiting for you somewhere near. 

------Mary Lou------

If one were looking for a clear picture; 
An idyllic caricature of love; 
One must look no further than Mary Lou. 
Her grace; her own promiscuous being;
And her unhindered commitment to Dean.
A man can benefit from such a girl; 
For Mary Lou can be any woman
With principle and femininity. 
Many a man has found a Mary Lou, 
And let her go; slip between his fingers.
But man is blind to love by his nature;
For a man can sow his seed and his oats
To anyone willing; coming on strong.
But Woman; oh the glorious woman;
Woman can control a man's very world, 
But not without providing unhinged love. 
Oh Mary Lou. Where is my Mary Lou? 
Where is my own unconditional love? 
My own promiscuous development?
Is she yet to come; did I miss my chance?
Where is my sweet, benevolent dancer?
My holy chalice? My whole life's answer?

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