I write because it's all that I know,
It's been my comfort all along
When I had noone else,
My pen and paper was there,
Holding my hand...

When I was young and vulnerable,
All alone and confused,
I could write down my thoughts,
And feel less darkness consumed

I found calmness in my writing,
And peace in my room
I found clearness in my mind,
As each word got dribbled down

I found love in my books,
When it was nowhere else to find
I found hope in these stories,
Because my life had no hope to find

I found nurture everywhere else,
Than where it truly should be
I seeked for guidance,
In places a child shouldn't be

I was sad and lonely,
Afraid and worried.
Naive and trustworthy,
Stupid and young.

I couldn't know...
What have I done?