I once read
all that glitters is not gold
and by no means is this an exception

words flow naturally in the light of the moon
fed with gaping mouths
grasping on to the snow banks
as you hold tight to your convictions

to write is to breathe
and I am constantly writing
my mind is filled to the brim with metaphors
washing me in the ocean of my thoughts

I find the best way to sort out my truths is to put them on paper
whether calm and collected
or
broken
and
full
of
hazards
the rage in my mind won't let me be

my friend once imagined words were written in our bones
perhaps more so on mine
I cannot escape
the terrible
and
awesome
power that connects me to a story wrapped in leather

I write about places and I write about thoughts
I write about people in lands long forgot
I write to make this body mine
this writhing skin of words
these bones of hardened dust
I write to tie the loose ends
choking, poisoning my mind
I write to free
to hold
to entrap
to release
what is mine to become theirs
and yours
and ours

I write because after my muscles grow taught
and my jaw stretched from screaming
when there is no more but this empty, hollow feeling
I become one with the craving
that sweetly sick taste
to match what was taken with something I create

I write poetry in the shower
half asleep and dreaming
waiting for a voice long since dead
praying to god I don't end up the same

I write because there is no other way
I write because no one will have the same thoughts
the same ideas that become plain as day
I write because I cannot scream
into the void that holds my being
I write because I am trapped within this body
this worthless thing made of stars
I write because speech is worthless
catching and tripping on my teeth

I write to be calm
and
I write to explain
I write to become whole
and
I write to escape the pain

I write
because I hate the sound of my own voice