As she wrote every stroke of the pen

brought back a memory, a trauma.

The more she wrote, the freer she felt.

It was like the chains that had kept her captive

all those years had dissolved.

 

As she wrote every stroke was like a breath

of fresh air. She was finally free from herself.

Her brain was not a prison cell anymore,

it was her saviour. It gave her wings, let her fly,

carried her with the wind. Gently soaring in the clouds

 

As she wrote every stroke was therapy.

Every word, every line, everything she

ever wanted to say was finally out.

Every thought inked onto the page.

No more festering inside her like an infected wound.

No more razorblades, no more self-hatred.

 

As she wrote every stroke of the pen was like

a little piece of her heart coming back to life.

A she wrote, every word was a reason to fight.

As she wrote, every line was a new beginning.

Now she can start her road to recovery.

 -- By Aurora Faustini