i write to release
my words may not rhyme
they may have no rhythm
but they make sense of the mess

they bleed on the page
a spilt coffee stain
misshapen and crude
but if you look long enough

an image is formed
whether it be of pain, sorrow, love
or even just a flower
blooming from the cracked ground

they take me places i could never say out loud
a safe haven of my own creation
a place to release
a place where i'm free