As the words slide off my mother’s tongue of Shel silverstein,

They began to swirl around inside my six year old head,

Creating a storm from within,

Roiling and bubbling from the possibilities,

As I wrote of cotton and candy clouds and world like Neverland with childish innocence,

I found I could turn to this world of impossibilities,

An outlet for my ever turning emotions and dilemmas,

That halted me from harming myself because of my darkness within,

Causing myself to cope with my ever fading grandfather to my Autistic twin,

The jeers of my peers cannot harm my family as I defend them,

With refined words,

The simple act of writing causes it all to cease,

I write to live,

To give others the chance they never would have seen for themselves at life,

To give others a second to see life through my eyes.