It Was Poetry

 

Where my darkest nights and deepest fears, the pain that I endured for so many years, finally getting tired of wiping my own tears, it was poetry.

 

See, when death crept in and started to conquer, the woman that carried me it didn't hesitate to take over, but not before swallowing my grandmother's dreams of seeing me walk across the stage, that hurt, that loneliness, that rage, it was poetry.

 

When that night man did his late visit to my room, after all lights were dim and heads were snoozed, disgusted that it's something I kind of got used to, when even my so called "protectors" didn't believe it was true, it was poetry.

 

See, when the razor just wouldn't cut deep enough through my skin, and the ropes never had enough strength, and the pills never seemed to blend and reacted as if they were supposed to be mixed, it was poetry.

 

When the block held me down and gave me a little drank, you know to ease my mind so I wouldn't have to think, or the intoxicating white clouds that surrounded me, an occasional cough, but giving me that false sense of serenity, it was poetry.

 

See, when the man that helped to create me got a little too upset and yelled and hollered and left me with a couple welts, not his fault that his daughter was his mistake, at least that's what he told her every single day. Hours I spent, locked in the closet or days I was kept from school because that was daddy's best punishment, still taking care of him because daddy had horrible health, day in and day out silently crying out for help, it was poetry.

 

My escape was the paper, best friend was the pen, memories were the words, every mark and every sentence. Not to be wrote down, disposed of and forgotten, but to look back on and see where it has got me. My sanity, My joy, My peace, it was Poetry."