How many times can my voice be suppressed?

Hiding from the world in pain and depressed 

I have this way to get my anger out 

To forget the bad words and the way they shout 

I have this secret language between you and me 

my pen to my paper is all you'll ever see 

I'm in my own little city no stress for miles

Better than sitting in a mental institution counting tiles

Letting my thoughts flow through my words 

Saying all of the things that will never be heard

I remember learning about old poets and they became my inspiration

Minds such as Plath, Dickinson, and Poe lead you into a fixation

A package to unfold through every line 

Deciphering every word and every rhyme

You lose yourself in the stories they tell  

And then you tell some of your own

And before you know it the seed has been sewn 

And you find that you're no longer alone

The words becomes your home within your "home"