I write my soul on this piece of paper.
My thoughts and feelings are pulled from my heart,
Flowing through my veins,
Channeled onto my pen's tip.
My Spirit spills like ink.
Every feeling kept inside;
This is their only escape.
Anger never acted on,
Envy never quenched,
Happiness always kept inside for fear of hurting a friend.
Tears never shed,
Pain never healed,
Love never respected because of innocent ignorance.
Hugs never shared,
Kisses never given,
Dreams that never came true.
Without this pen and ink, I would have no way out.
No way no express everything I
Wanted to feel,
Wanted to give,
Wanted to dream,
Wanted to love.
There would be no escape.
But writing is my trapdoor,
A breath of sweet, fresh air outside this dark cave,
My ray of sun.
With this refuge, this generator of faith,
Every emotion I wished my heart felt is felt by my mind.
It's almost as good,
Almost as sweet,
Almost as vivid,
Almost as real.
Almost is enough for me.
At least I have almost, not nothing.