Freedom Writer

Freedom, blood and tears have marked my years.

All the while, a pencil in my hand to ease the pain of reality.

Write it down, spell it out, mark it somewhere.

My best friend my journal, I lose myself in its pages.

On the brink of insanity, I stumble back into its arms,

and let my words break my fall.

I owe writing everything, and yet, she owes me nothing.

So I will continue to write:

Manipulating a language I was given

Humbly offering my thanks through words packed with meaning. 

Words that I cannot hope to say outloud, for writing takes place in silence.

And silence takes place within the mind.

But not mine.

So I scream on the page to escape this cage,

My mind.

My thoughts run wild and free, and who am I to keep them withheld?

Who am I to supress the freedom they were promised when they entered my head?

I write so that I don't one day stumble in the wrong direction.

I write to be heard in a world full of silent thoughts.

I write for me so that one day I may be able to write for you.