Writing turns me into words
Painting makes me color
And I have no voice to be heard
When there's one without the other

Music makes matches of my ears
Striking on sandpaper notes
Voices turn me into tears
Pieces of me thrown from throats

Self-expression is some sort of healing
For the things that we think we're feeling
and when the paint begins its peeling
and your words begin their reeling
that's when you'll know how is why