Why I Write

With his fist he could choke me;

the words glided on the air that 

escaped my lips, 

And in a second became forever lost.

His cold eyes could freeze me;

the words turned into ice and stayed

trapped within me, 

they stabbed at my sides like glaciers, 

threatened to bring me down like the titanic,

and mocked my instability, 

for I was a sinking ship that couldn’t survive on it’s own.

With his words he could make a joke of me,

for I had so much to say but didn’t know how to say it,

and so he would flaunt his abilities and make my words 

shudder at the mere mention of his,

But I found a way to make my words escape from, no not 

my lips, my fingertips,

with pen and paper I could paint my dreams,

I could drain myself of screaming emotions, 

I could leave horrific nightmares merely dyed ink on a page.

Paper and pens listen like friends, 

And with the written word, 

I found a way to be heard.