Me
To me,
Words seem to flow
Easier on paper
Than from my lips.
Insecurity, doubt, fear
Are thrown away
When I pick up a pen and paper.
I pour my soul out through words,
finding comfort in the release.
Mostly, I feel safe knowing that nobody would care to read these outbursts.
And if they did,
They wouldn't care who it was that wrote them.
I write because the written word is dead
To most of the world.
But not to me.
When writing I can be invisible
Yet demand attention.
Satisfying my hunger for expression
Fearlessly and without regret.
There are no rules and no boundaries.
You ask why I write?
Because writing allows me to be me.
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