Poetry, My place to get away.

I bleed on the pages, rather than razors.

I show my emotions through words  on paper.

I've never tried to rhyme,

In any of my poems.

But this one is different,

It needs that emotion.

 

The stress, the depression, the anger.

I held it inside,

Where it stormed in my mind like lightning and thunder.

For years and years, I shed my tears,

But in private, so I wouldn't be bothered.

 

I needed a release, I needed an outlet.

I could've turned to drugs just like my aunt had.

Journals were for wimps,

Books were for nerds,

I just needed a way for my emotions to be heard!

 

Then I came across a poem,

And I knew I found my way.

I could finally write down,

The shit I wasn't brave enough to say.

 

Before I knew what I was doing,

Ink was on the page.

My heart had just spewed it,

The words weren't from my brain.

Raw, unfiltered, emotion,

Put on display like shameless self promotion.

 

But I was ashamed.

Here on this paper were all my deepest secrets,

If I burned the page,

Those secrets would be cleaned.

I lit the page up,

But the secrets would not leave,

It was like they took a vacation,

And now they're back with me.

 

I wrote it all again,

In an attempt

To rid the voices from my head.

 

This time I gave it to my teacher,

Hoping it would please her.

She taught creative writing,

She was used to these things.

These words from kids' hearts,

The stains on their brains.

All the memories and parts

Of their histories and pains.

 

She gave it a hundred,

But that wasn't what mattered.

I now felt better,

Like I awoke from a slumber.

Now I could write,

From breakfast to supper.

 

The ink in my heart

Can finally depart.

It flows onto the pages,

That accept it with open arms.

 

I write poems,

And this is where the flow ends.

Poetry saved me.

I was drowning in my thoughts

And being burned by emotion.

Poetry gave me my floaties,

It gave me my mind back.