Staring at a page waiting for words to come out

My hand blocking the ink from revealing my secrets


Writing in how I feel

When I can’t write I know something is deeply wrong


I live on the pages where my words are written

Visualizing my thoughts, my emotions, my demons


When my hands are stuck I can feel something right under the surface

Just far enough away to know it’s there but unable to discern what it is


I’m not ready for whatever my body is hiding

Yet my body tells me otherwise
My mind tricks me into thinking I’m ok

But the body really does keep the score


Pain, discomfort, shaking, insomnia

Signs that tell me not everything in fine


My hands are my favorite part of my body

They allow me to live my passion and feel my soul


Once everything is on paper it cannot be taken back

My words then become discoverable to people other than myself








Hidden secrets

Not again

Who to tell

Not her




Heavy words

Dry throat

Pounding heart




Not me


Not me

What a rush

I missed you old friend

Missed my reflection disappearing

By words I ate



Living the past

It’s true

It happens to EVERYONE

it happened to me

Now no longer behavior free

When I don’t write

When I don’t write things get worse

I think that’s the first


I’m dead inside when I don’t write

When I don’t write I fight


I can’t challenge what I think

Further into darkness I sink


When I don’t write I get stuck in my mind

Because I’m blind

And I can’t see my words

I look At words like a friend

To me messages they send

Of what I can’t say

Writing is calming

Keeps me from the embalming

Writing keeps me alive

With words I feel seen

The express what I mean

On a page

Writing is how I live

How I give

To the world

I can’t

It starts in my core then works its way out

I try to avoid what I know it’s about

Why am I like this, why can’t I change

Why in does being in my body feel strange

I don’t think I can take it, I clearly don’t to try

It wasn’t working before, I can’t make myself cry

There are so many things of myself that I hate

I don’t feel I can be saved, I feel it’s too late

I’m lying to myself when I say that I’m trying

I know that I’m worthless a truth I’ve been denying

There no hope for me and I know that I’m right

I’m stuck in my tunnel away from the light

I’m stuck in myself, I hate being me

When I look around it is only destruction I see

I don’t live in the present, I’m so stuck in my past

It’s such a big shadow over myself I have cast

My heart is so heavy, I can no longer pretend

Life is no fairy tale but all stories close with ‘The End’

A broken system

The society we live in is broken

Many expectations go unspoken

We live in the laws we make

Our own freedom we take

Look at the system we created

What we have is Ill-fated

What’s he bigger theme

Why can’t we live our dream

Into Peril we slide

As the gaps opens wide

Some can’t get out

Even when for help they shout

Does it exist, the power of one

What can be done

No matter what we do

We still have no clue

Yes we have a right

But we’ll continue to lose the fight

We are the laws we make

But advantage of us the take

We live in year

Yet re-elect each year

Repeating the cycle

Destruction we recycle

We beat the oppressed

Idolize the rest

Inequality is taught

And we are ALL caught

Living in

A broken system

I draw with my words

Like a puzzle, each word is used to create a bigger picture

I live in the space between the words of my poems

I  find myself when I get lost on the pages of my journal

Words wrap around my body and provide safety

My words are the journeys of my life

A video of moving pictures

I write what I see

What I feel

What I know

I’ve used words to paint a picture of who I am

Without words I can’t see

When I can’t see I can’t draw

And when I can’t see to draw with words

I’m nothing