Release
Years have passed and no one truly heard
My thoughts, my dreams, not a single world
I was alone, confused - no comfort in sight
Without anyone to turn to, I began to write.
Paper will not judge you, the pen will not laugh
The words I express will not mock my wrath.
You see, poetry is therapy, the most indescribale kind
Without voice or speech, I open my mind.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.