I’m just a girl who writes, not a writer.
My pen doesn’t leave eloquence and
the ink doesn’t stain with elegance.

The words used, can’t find rhyme
and symbolism becomes buried deep
within my own mind.

My words become a mess,
piled with knotted thoughts
attached to nonsense.

Small bursts of courage from a spark of intuition,
and I find myself struggling for breath
since I seem to be buried down into this hole
with nothing but my own emotions left,

You’ll find my hands raw
trying to climb out of this chaos.

So, this is my savior,
a sense of reprieve
from a world that’s become so cruel
from a world that now stays existentially cold.