I write until my fingertips bleed
from pouring my coffee-stained thoughts onto the page
through my veins
I carry creativity
for so long in which I have kept in captivity
to avoid negativity
but I feel as though
my words need to be shared
my blood was meant to flow
the garden in my brain
is of plants in full bloom
while the vessel I'm in
is sat in my room
with a laptop
and a tea
for this is me
a writer at heart and a writer meant to be
c.p