voiceless truth

She writes to release.

There is a sense of sweet power surging through her fingertips from the screaming person in her mind to express them.

She needs this to escape from the confronting fear that consumes her daily- she chokes even though the truth is on her tongue- it's scary.

Swollen, from all the words that couldn't get out- she grabs her weapon of choice that, without a doubt, can release the pressure.

This weapon comes in a variety: pen, she prefers, so she can't take back her pain once it's scratched into the paper, that now has a piece of her attatched.

She writes to survive. 

Invisible, is how she feels. A ghost in every hallway, every street, every room; every place.

She wishes and watches and longs for that one moment, just in case,

that one person, that one time, she could instead just say how she feels and all the desires she religiously writes.

Then, she remembers- that one person might say something back- she isn't prepared.

Scared and nervously she reaches for her weapon and fights away the fear and lonliness with her heart full of words.

In these moments she is alive and more of a presence than all the people in the world;

she is ME and she writes, to be.