I write to fight the demons inside of my head,
And I cant complain less,
I try to pour all my emotions into words,
At times I fail, but I still try,
Sometimes the sadness takes over,
makes me cry,
If I were an artist, I would draw what sadness looks like,
But I’m not,
So, I carry a pen with a piece of paper and turn that pain into poetry,
But people won’t hear the voids,
the depth of emotions just reading the words,
And that’s not enough,
My pen can be a sword,
But it’s silent,
It should make the sound of each and every strikes,
I need to be heard,
That’s why I feel like reciting my writings,
My words won’t bring any thunder or lightings,
But it might help myself in building that confidence,
To come out of my little shell,
To believe in self,
And think beyond the thinkable,
Make myself capable, of doing what I’ve been scared for so long,
I could write a thousand songs,
Good, bad, right and wrong,
I make a lot of mistakes,
But my words won’t undo the wrong,
Only thing I can do is learn from it,
All these problems in life,
And I don’t want to run from it.
That’s why I write to fight the demons and voids,
I’m just writing for myself,
Seeking some poetic justice,
May be some day I’ll write for people,
Until then, I am no poet.