When I was a child, I'd cry to my pages
as they turned with dripping ink I felt relived
behind the paralyzed smile and inner rage
my words caught fire, no one believed
Alone, maybe not- known, never.
It was easy, just as nod and wave
I could not make a gesture any better
These pages kept me, I wont cave.
The words became too heavy for the paper to hold
The bind wasnt strong enough to keep them in place
The pen became dimmer, scratchy, everyday
I found a place, a place i thought to stay
Seasons passed, my soundtrack changed
My skin got darker, my hair lighter, eyes brighter
He saw the life in them, that was.
He took them, blinded them, she felt safe
As this time has passed, i see the light shining through-
dancing out of the cracks, streaming from his cold
callussed hands, the grip tightens, as i levitate
I dont see me, i dont see my aging, it is warm and full of grace
Until then ill turn to my pages, my solitude, my savior.
My story, my wisdom and strength, can be found in the ink
My ink, dripping down the pages