Can't say I had no inspiration but on days without much to do, I'd end up writing about nothing, until my ideas became solid and my motive changed, what a way to express myself, as the words came to my head the pen moved faster and the rhyme developed, writing about my day and all my complaints, how I hated certain things about myself, a dark place I fell into from a cliff I lept, cutting and hurting from lifes mishapps, I once again found a friend with my pen and paper in my lap, my onamotopeias, similes and irony were apart of me, the stories I could tell in privacy, the words grew and so did I, a way to shed away from the world around me and hide, but as I realized I was stronger and had a voice, I no longer wanted to hide but speak up for my cause. No bullying, no hurting, no hiding remorse, be open, get heard and learn from the past, poetry was my all through pain and relief, couldn't say I never had a vice and on this note on leave.