The Ink Bleeds

I write because the ink bleeds

Even when I don’t

They tell me to speak my mind

But childhood taught me that I am to be seen

And not heard

So I won’t be heard

But I will be read

Even if the words are jumbled

Fragmented

Pieced together

A bloody mess

I will be read, because no one else knows what I have to say

I write because it hurts

Even when I don’t

Because it’s magical

Even when I’m not

I write because the sickness of the mind is really sickness of the heart

And words can be a cure

Even if it’s little old me writing those words

I write because my ancestors were told that they couldn’t speak

So instead, they wrote

And wrote

And wrote

So I carry their souls in mine as I put pen to paper

And I do the unthinkable by daring to challenge

To create

To idealize

To idolize

To preach

To tell you what’s wrong with the world and how to fix

I write because the ink bleeds

Even when I don’t