Why I, She Writes

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As a young child I held in a lot of anger,

Negativity, rage, unlocked power.

Such an opinionated mind never exposed,

Due to my shy need to keep my mouth closed.

 

“The words never come out right!”

Tears rolling down my face every midnight.

My father tucked me in that night,

Noticed the tears I was trying to fight,

Without a word he stared and left the room,

Leaving me locked, alone in the gloom.

Not even he, Dad could believe in me.

 

The morning came even more soon,

Awoke to my father again in my room.

He smiled and slid me an old box,

Inside a notebook he used to journal his thoughts.

He held my hand saying this is the key,

To explain and release that negative energy.

 

Like a worm, I began to blindly dig,

Form and create the words within.

From then my words began to grow and branch,

Like a small snowball forming an avalanche.

The quiet child’s unlocked power out to fight,

From that day on, the reason I, she began to write.

 

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