Words swirl on the page, the deep blue ink staining

They transform from words into something more; a painting.

The picture of my mind, written out--no, drawn.

Like adding another brushstroke, adding another on.

Slowly a story unfolds across the cream colored paper

It's soft under my fingers, worn by the poems' creator.

It feels like an old friend to me, reminding me of brighter days

And as the words take meaning, my childhood it portrays.

It captures all of the sun and warmth that used to color my life

But now a dark blanket covers me, cutting like a knife.

It strangles and it curses, screaming in my ears

Makes me never forget and brings back all my fears.

But as I scribble on the page, I hope to store my heart

In this safe haven I have created, my masterpiece, my art.

With me, I know my heart will weather. With others, it will break

But hidden here in this poem, in one piece it will stay.