Writing Just to Live

It's like the rain that falls, The summer that calls. The wind in my hair, Caring about this the most. To do so is an honor, a privilege, a right. I write to breath, to live, to fight. It calls to me, this pen, this pencil, this book, this night. My freedom through words, My life in another sight. I write to speak, to see, to hear everything around me. Don't censor me, It hurts; this cruel punishment at work. I yearn for the the life it gives me. Don't take it away from me. This pen, this pencil, this book, this night; My freedom, my words, through expression of sight. It's all I have, This ability to write.