Why I Write Right?

Hard to say when It first came about. I love the words And they love me. A caress on my skin each night As I drift to sleep. A slap in the face at the perfect time Returning me to reality. Mostly, though Each word is a tear A tear in my eye, My heart, My soul. I’m so ripped and shredded, Shaking as I lay myself flat and vulnerable, Hoping that someone will finally listen And that I can let them hear me cry my tears See me cry my tears See where are my tears. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover From the childhood rippings And the slow constant shreddings. But it all starts With my favorite word. …