Yet another sleepless night,

to toss, to turn, and put up a fight

against the war that goes raging inside of my head -

the war that I quietly fight from my bed.

The war between things that I think but can’t say,

the things that rampage through my mind every day.

The anger, the sadness, and things I can’t change.

All these built up emotions would surely destroy me

if it weren’t for the pen and the page that employ me.

A writer at heart and a writer by will,

it’s the only thing that I know to do still.

When my breathing won’t calm and my mind will not rest,

the pen and the page are soon put to the test.

I write and soon feel all the negative leaving,

a peace I’ve come to find brilliant, intriguing.

The astonishing part is the way the words change -

that is the part that I deem as most strange.

The jumbled, unintelligible mess in my head

forms a simple, yet intricate story instead.

The pen meets the paper and my mind leaves the world,

and into my “happy place” I am soon whirled.

I write to inform, to persuade, and entertain,

but I write for myself, so that I can stay sane.

Though my reasons for writing may seem very selfish,

there are also other things I hope to accomplish.

I hope to change minds, open eyes, and inspire,

I hope to cause wonderful things to transpire.

If mere combinations of twenty-six letters

can change someone’s thoughts or their views for the better,

then I will keep writing and thinking all night -

it’s just one more reason to keep up the fight.