When I was young,

I was afraid,

When I was afraid

I would cry,

And when I cried I would spill my insides out in ribbons of blood and words of death.

I carried wounds and scars,

Bruises and broken teeth,

Except…

This never showed,

At least….

Not to a person who only knew of love and warmth.

I was worthless.

I was disgusting.

I was shown that words were hurtful

Beaten into insanity,

With horrible words sharpened with cruelty and unyielding anguish.

Words were death, words were war,

And yet,

Words were also beauty and peace.

Freshman year I was shown light,

I was given balance to my chaotic world.

Yin and Yang were at harmony.

Words were now life.

Poetry came from my teachers,

And it gave me water when I was thirsty;

Comfort when I was scared.

You ask me why I got into poetry?

Well the simple answer is that:

It Saved Me.