Why I Write

It was clear from the beginning

That I held a gift so powerful that I couldn't help but believe that it was sent from God

that when when he created me he attached a pen to my hand 

and it slowly swalled me whole until my blood became ink

scribbled upon a peice of paper

I brush against the grain of white lines

and it is my safe haven while I rest against its walls

I faithfully insribe what is left of me and I am breathless

finding myself through an endless sea of words 

I am no longer lost

No longer the stranger that lurks in the shadows of uncertainty

I am all that needs to be said without a single word escaping these lips that are bound

So I let my words tell my tale

And I am patient as we both read along