Caged imagination

Why do I write?
Why do people breathe? It’s because they can’t not!
Writing is breathing. The Characters I create are my friends, the friends
I never had in reality.
When I write words on a page it proves that I have a purpose.
That I am worth something, that I have something to give.
Sometimes I wish I could draw or dance or cook.
But in the middle of all the wanting and wishing, I remember
I can write.
Living this monotony called life gets boring. It’s like someone else is pulling the threads leaving me in a tangled mess,
Then I write my own world, my own life. I don’t have to be the clumsy awkward girl as I was born.
I can be a graceful warrior.
I can run as fast as my pen can scribble, away from the pain of my heart knocking against the ribs like a loud bass.
Because, life is a spacious and roomy
We are each given a key,
but its hidden.
Like presents your parents were hiding til Christmas.
The answer is whispered
The walls are unblemished paper,
A pencil rests in your hand
The only way to leave this cage is in a box.
But you can always escape it.
This is why I write, to escape life every chance I get
Like artist with a brush, or a musician with their instrument,
I write. Pen and paper.
Because, Writing lets me breath in spite of the knowledge
that we have an expiration date.


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