I am a writer,
even when the sun is dark and I am covered by snow I am a writer,
even when my heart is broken and I shed a few tears I am a writer,
even when I gaze at the stars breathing my last this is who I am,
this is the language of my heart,
the collection of my thoughts,
this is a part of my soul.

It is between the gaps that lay between words that I am free,
It is in the black and white portrait painted by my person in honesty hidden amongst crumpled papers that I live free,
It is in the subjective emotions and thoughts that scream to be heard yet seen by none that I breathe free.

I am a slave to the word set lay to bear by weaker moments and written only to touch hearts though never shown