In the company of undiluted sadness
She vomits verses upon verses
Swathes emotion
In amassed bundles of metaphor
Chokes on truth
Squeezes out the blood
For the sake of creation
And
Perhaps a cure
For the feeling

Silent screaming
Traversing the precarious
Corridors of her mind
The ricochet of sound
Awakening the repressed
Opening the floodgates of
The repugnant murk
The face of her darkness
She knows not its name
Or how it found her.

loving you
is my favorite
pastime,
your taste
is my favorite
flavor,
your words
are my favorite
rhyme,
your arms
are my favorite
life saver.

A writer has her own perspective
Her own point of view
Her own way of interpreting things

Never judge
how a writer does her works
You have no right

You are not God
You are just one
of his million creations

Stop putting rules
on how one should write
her own poem

Because her mind is hers
Her heart is hers
And her poem is her