I don’t write for you
I ******* write for me
I don’t write except to fight the hell that’s dragging after me
To explore what’s under skin, that masks its whole.
Dwelling in my lakes of feeling
That no one knows the pull
Peeling back the lawyers,
Rip it open, hear it tear
I am angry, sad, and hurt
Scraped and fallen
I write to pick myself up off the dirt
And scream when no one knows I’m there
Where no one’s there to hear
The deathly hurtled scream of a lonely single part of a pair
I write to **** the demons that are pulling at my heart
To torture them and slowly pull them apart
I write to kiss the skin of a lover I use to know
To deal with the hurt of really letting go
To know he moved on before I understood
Keeping me sane when no one thought I could
Reminds of the irony, of what Christmas really gives
To open doors and close them
To let them in or show them
Recreating my reality
Or simply feeling the cool shade of a growing tree
I don’t write for you
I write for me
Because this rant is part of a process
That is setting me free
I bend at the bars
I let in a breeze
I feel a little happiness
And I remember I’m me