Why I Write

I cannot remember the moment I picked up the pen all those years ago Of when my heart began to write its tale I cannot remember the first poem I ever wrote in a notebook filled of emotions and thoughts This fragile memory of mine was never to be trusted At some point my voice could no longer reach their ears The pain of non-consensual silence I do recall My mind begged for a release Do I follow the choice of my peers who have experience a pain of their own and let blood flow from my arms to the floor? The body is often a slave to the mind This is why I write If my voice can no longer reach their ears Then perhaps my words can reach their hearts? This is why I write Not to be heard by voice But to be heard by heart