Let the Monster out.

If it wasn’t for my writing

I don’t know where I would be.

My mind is filled with so much insanity as it is.

Writing Poetry is my therapy.

The words come out onto this paper like it was always meant to be.

No one sees my battle scars.

No one hears my screams inside all they see is my smile on the outside.

No one understands how my mind thinks; it is constant, pessimism overflowing to the point of hallucinations and scary enough even some premonitions.

The ability to put my deepest thoughts onto paper is allowing judgment, yet it is my freedom from mental self infliction.

Like a drug, alcohol, or love can be, writing is an addiction for me.

To be able to write is like being able to breathe: It is a necessity.

My thoughts are bounded with chains without that pen and paper.

It has always been my go to Haven.

I can remember being younger in a bad state of mind

Always feeling out of place to the point I started looking for answers the wrong way.

Until I found my Sanctuary. I found my quiet space where I could explain how I really felt.

I was able to become a better person by releasing all my problems on paper.

As bitter sweet as it sounds, that was not the end.

I still fight battles amongst myself. 

There are days when all I have is my madness to rage.

So I grab my pen and paper and let the monster out.

 

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