A purpose runs in my veins
, shines onto my flaws, though it cleans
A pale of when, a pale of what happened
I, as a child was molested
I, as a child was bullied
I, as a child believed that I was born as nothing
what a name could it have been of mine
, others told me that I was just fine
fine is a word that makes my wounds want to bleed more
, a word that force the tears to run from my hazels and down my cheeks
What am i for?
alive? what for?
The burns of if , the pains of did
The solid of faith, the melt of denial
I failed pain, I failed I
I held a bit in me, a sore of wanting to un-pain me, myself, and I
an eternity of holding the pains in my hand like a toddler begging his dad to get it off
, an enemy I thought
a time period of self discovery, there was interferers that I fought
a name of mine is a library that is designing me, molding me, and teaching me
the coaches the books of my life are, I am the writer who wrote them
the words that coaches me, coaches me as I write the life of me.
So, writing is my lord,
the day I attempeted to spare my pain, it saved me,
the day when all of it felt too much, it calmed me,
what pains my name has, created the writer I am to be.
So, words are my mentor,
I am alive because of them, I want to exist because of them,
nothing in me is a crack of a light so dim,
a pure light they said I was, words fathered me to bright them,
so thank you words, I love you.