In every word scribbled I find a story, a memory, a person attached to it
The subject of every poem is you and that person changes as quickly as I choose to run
Or she, a pronoun I so often hide behind because she is easier to utter than admitting I have felt pain
And there are always people hidden in the ink, whom I’ve hurt or helped, longed for or lost
And sometimes they’re the strangers I create lives for in the back of my mind, taking comfort in the creativity of it all, the fantasy of it
The escape

"why are you writing
poems and prose?"
asked a guy out of nowhere
while staring at my pen

"to breathe."
I answered with a smile

for writing lets me indulge
with metaphors and similes

it is my escape
the key toward my fantasies

I submerge myself
in the seawater

The water
envelopes me
and
drowns out
the noise of this world

There’s an inexplicable
peace
down here

To know that
everything
still goes on
while
I’m under refuge

Yes,
the water may sting my eyes
my lungs may ache for oxygen

But to be
d  e  t  a  c  h  e  d
from this world

Even for just
t h i r t y  s e c o n d s  

It’s all worthwhile

This is how this story goes
I ask you, how does it feel when the lights don't stop
Bright screens blinding you, no place to go
Abandon Everything you know
And run away, escape from the prison of
Preconceptions
Let go, go out, free yourself from the chains
Abandon all the things you know
Put an end to the tedious cycle
I ask you once more, how does it feel?
How does feel when the tides slam into you?
Just run away, run into the emptiness
No cell phones, no TV
Let go, move out, here the words of judgement
don't stop
Abandon Everything you hold dear
Just quit, run away, run away
Just let go, be free
Hide your thoughts no more
Get out, move away from there vicious hearts
They say there's no place to go
But that's what makes worth trying.

In me is a world of words
Ink runs through my veins
I am not only art
I make art
I write to feel
I bring magic to life through words
I have the power to create a whole new world with just words
Fear Me
I am soldier armed with a pen and paper
I hold the highest power
I am a writer

Why do we have to tolerate so much
When multiple escapes are thrown at us everyday

Why is it seen as self destruction to give in to one of those escapes
Why do we have to choose between the silent stabs
And the public white flag

Why do we consider using an escape as a white flag
Why do we have to give up in order to be completely numb

We might always feel numb
But we never are
We strive to be numb

Having feeling is supposed to be the strongest trait
But when it reflects so poorly on itself
Why aren't we allowed to be weak

Why do we have to condemn the glares of disappointment
Even though we just need a hand
A hand that we will never reach out for

Why does each eye provide an impact that further pushes us
Waiting on the porch
Rocking chair now steady
Sewing a rip in a jacket
The rip never seems to mend as the needle is drawn to our finger