Catharsis

Whenever my soul is weary words comfort me

After the weight of life’s despair becomes too heavy

My heart needs to sing

The contents of my heart need to be free

There is nothing like putting my pain on paper

Some drink their pain down with alcohol

But my drug of choice are words made into beautiful phrases

I’m addicted to the way the words flow across the page

The glimmer of hope that verses bring to me

They speak to my soul rattling something deep

Breaking, healing, softening my heart

Turning my heartbreak into words is routine

Words search my heart thoroughly

Asking the questions I’m afraid to answer

They make me scream, cry, and laugh

They say the things I don’t dare say aloud

When words fit to form a novel

Reading an author’s book

Reading their soul

Knowing that on this earth my pain is not alone

Catharsis

Where would we be without the words?

The words of ourselves, of revolutionaries, of the broken

Who would we be?

Who would I be?