I write to be heard
With no interruptions
No rules or structures
Or opinions about what or how I do.

The paper listens.
It doesn't fight.
Sure, it may give paper cuts,
But it's nothing personal;
It's just teaching you to be more delicate and careful,
To go at an even pace that is incapable of hurting you.
Ways to go through life.

Writing releases emotions,
Ones that you didn't know existed.
You can write with structure or rhyme,
Or free verse it all of the time.

I know of people who are in love with words
And read to fill their hearts,
But I write to satisfy mine.
I don't find greatness in words;
I find greatness in our understanding of them.

How did language come to be?
Did words get chosen to mean what they do without protest?
Or were there many who showed detest
And thought another word was better to express the meaning?

Look at the sky and write what you see.
I'd say its blue with bits of gray;
You could picture that.
Thanks to the meaning placed behind the words.

I have always written to remember what once was;
To remember what and why I once believed,
In case my values change.
For better or for worse,
I can evaluate it from my scribbled verse.

History repeats itself;
Many times I have been told.
We think something's new,
But it's really quite old.

Customs and traditions may change;
Though they are called traditions,
There could be transitions
And new positions.
Those of which we can see
From a novel or page.

Emotions can be the same, but in different contexts.
Is sadness not as sad if it is not as sad as sadness should be?
Can I not be happy though your happiness is a different happy than me?
People may judge emotion just because it is not in their perspective;
Paper, however, won't question the way you live.

Writing may be a friend to he who is alone.
Alone, but not lonely
For he creates the unknown to become known.