Writing out my own words has shown me multitudes within myself. 

I used to think finding oneself was a joke. 

Until I ripped off the bandage and let me wounds breathe. 

I never understood it before, but I used to have a habit of avoiding my problems. 

I don’t recommend this. 

My sadness caught up to me. 

Suddenly, I had nowhere to turn but a blank page. 

I began to bleed words. 

They poured out of me. 

I didn’t know these words were there. 

Writing poetry has taught me that reflection is vital. 

It showed me how to grieve. 

It showed me that there is not just one way to grieve. 

Grief is an ocean, is a river, is a rain drop, is a pond, is a lake, is a glass of Water. 

Grief is not as scary as it seems. 

If you let yourself feel it, grief will lose its power over you. 

You might even begin to live and love with a freedom that you never possessed before. 

My own words taught me that.