I wonder why I pen,
My mind to no end.
Maybe since,
It's the only voice I have.
When I write,
I feel heard,
Finally seen,
For what I mean.
But there are times I dance on paper,
Around what I itch to share,
The words are not fully processed,
If I type it,
I’m afraid it will appear.
I'm apprehensive of my feelings,
Scared of the jarring pain,
But getting them out,
Is the only way I feel a bit more sane.
It's become something I race to,
Like a friend that’s only my own,
When the feelings resurface again,
I have a place to let them show.
I walk around a world,
That is so beautiful and pure,
And it kills everything left of me
That alone I have to explore.
It hurts to keep on going,
To speak when others can't comprehend,
Like I'm bending myself so hard,
Just for me to pretend.
I wish it weren’t accurate,
Not my bittersweet pleasure anymore,
I feel locked inside myself,
Behind every door.
I think about my mission,
And wonder why it’s fair,
To live alone in such beauty,
And never get to share.