I love to write.
I love the way the words pour out of my mind,
The way the letters spill onto the paper.
I love how the letters come together to form beautiful words.
How the words come alive and bring tears into some eyes,
How they pull up the emotions, tug them from your heart.
I love how I can open up.
Everything I own is messy and disorderly.
But my words, when spoken, when written, when read, when sang, when felt.
They are neat little boxes, made of glass.
They are clear and fragile. I don’t throw my words around.

I use my words with a special kind of proficiency.
While everything else isn’t dependable, I know I can trust My words to be neat.
I wield my words with emotion.