I write because 

if I didn’t

you’d find me dead with

a pen by my side. 

I try to break free

from the bones that control me,

but the only cure I have found

is shaping words into poetry.

For a decade 

I was lost in my own mind

fighting to find people

who were my kind

of people. 

I see myself 

in the words of other writers,

bleeding down wrists

and finding paper.

I write this poetry

so I don’t feel like a ghost,

at least now

I am a host 

to something greater than myself. 

I find myself shaking

under the blankets 

of my unspoken words,

I can’t sleep

unless they are free.

You see,

writing is an outlet

for my less than pretty thoughts

that get caught behind

fears and lies

and never feeling alive.

I write 

because my body still feels the need to fight

and writing these words

is the only way I will survive.

This poem is about: 


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