Why I Write

It began with the seeds that were planted in my mind.

The kind that grows poisonous plants

that one would not want to find.

The conditions were right;

my tears watered the deadly plants,

never leaving the soil dry.

Eventually and fortunately, I found a way to prevent the poison from seeping into my veins,

by picking up a pen and putting it to paper.

Once I did, I started to scrawl letters across the page that then formed into words.

It is like the poison just gushes from underneath my fingernail,

providing the ink for my pen,

creating writings that could only be written by a tainted soul.

I write to release this poison from within me,

to save my heart from drinking the venom created by my mind.

To feel like I have turned the poison into nectar for others to feed off of.

This is why I write.