To some, this is writing on a page.

To other's it is a form of art.

To me, a look into my soul.

Where I pick up a pen and words flow through my heart.

On to paper.

This ability of mine,

Or, in some eyes lack of,

Helps me be me.

Cleansing of my soul.

After I write,

I am calm.

Rejuvenated.

Able to face more problems,

And identify solutions.

No one told me to do this.

This is something I did myself.

The words found me,

Come in and healed me.

Once again, I set them free.

Someone might read my words and see my talent.

Some may say I am not talented.

To either of these people,

I say "I do not care"

My word formations,

I made them for me.

I made them so I could help myself,

So I could carry on with a brave face,

If you open your mind and read my words,

Open your eye's you are looking into my soul.

If the words help in a time of need.

I smile at myself.

If not I will still do the same.

When I write,

I can mould a language.

I am in control of it all.

So when life spins horribly out of control.

When the words just wont leave my mouth.

I run to my hiding place and immerse myself,

In ink.