Pain is an ocean. Drowning me.
Words were the lifeboat. Rescuing me.
I was young. Probably thirteen.
They were my heroes. Writers.
They were believers. Fighters.
A wide-eyed boy. Follower.
I picked up a pen to be like them.
I saw the light. But it was inside me.
I became my own savior.
Like an alchemist, I found an elixir.
My anger was lifted without any violence.
I was no longer surrounded by shy silence.
My sadness drifted with a little less crying.
Words are my shield in the battlefield.
The reson I live, and to reason my living,
Words are the gift that always keep giving.