I stare absent minded at the open word font.
My hands type words vigorously
as they appear one by one on my computer screen
flowing just as I planned them to.
They are my weapon, a way to defend myself.
They always have been,
even when it felt as if everyone was trying
to tape my mouth shut.
Even when I was so in love with my sadness
more than anything else.
Even when I no longer felt the need to breathe,
and death seemed so inviting.
Words were always my ammunition.
And that’s why, I write.
I write to survive, I write to live.
I write to keep my neurotic head in check.
But I don’t only write for me.
I write for them.
I write for the girl who is addicted to diet pills,
because she is so disgusted with what stares back at her in the mirror.
I write for the boy who sits in the back of the class,
because he’s learned that it is better to stay silent than to be heard.
I write for the kid who has an addiction to xanax,
not because of lack of self control, but lack of sanity.
I write for the smartest kid in our class,
who can’t get into a college because of financial problems.
I write for the man who’s lost all faith in himself,
despite the fact that his friends all see him as an inspiration.
I write for the teenage girl who is judged not by her personality,
but the way she dresses and styles her hair.
I write for the hopeless.
I write for the lost.
I write for the ugly.
I write for those who have ever broke down because frankly,
they just couldn’t take it anymore.
yes, I write for all of them
because they are all of me.
So go ahead.
Try to put tape over my mouth,
but you will still feel the sting of my words.