freeing
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As the pen began painting strokes on the paper
The silence I've known for so long became deafening as I wrote the first letter
My scrambled thoughts became clear as the words danced from line to line
To begin something, with a blank mind
to begin somthing, where only time
can tell you if it's what you thought
only time spent, to figure what you've bought.
Most people never begin,
Poetry is a tool, and I have found that the more I practice, the more precise I am.
It is an x-ray machine, allowing me to discover where I wish to examine myself.
It is rib shears, slicing my ribs open to expose my heart.
Shoes against pavement,
Head towards the ground,
Trying to keep out the noises,
Trying to keep out the sound.
