When I write

When I write, I am loud

The clicking of the keys and scratching of the bleeding pen

is louder than the thunder

and the tigers

and the rain

and the righteousness

The screams I can’t get out

and the words I am afraid to speak

take shape as they march across the page.


When I write, I am free

There are no restrictions on what I can say

I would scream my words into each day

Into the sky

Into the sun

The words fly like birds from my breast

taking my ideas and emotions up to the heavens

I fly with them

no longer grounded by my fears and misgivings

When I write I am without and within,

like dear, sweet Nick of Gatsby

who poeticism makes my heart flutter and cry

I observe and anger

I reflect and weep

The rhythm and song of joy and pain

beat with my heart

and I run til I’m free

and I shout to the sky.


Even if all you hear is the clicking of keys

and the scratching of the pens

Even if all you see is the small girl writing away

I am miles gone

miles gone

and eternities free

eternities free

and screaming and celebrating

A poet with wings

who doesn’t care if the sun is too close

because at least it means  I’m flying

and least it means I’m free.

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