to breathe.

When I was eight I wrote a poem about pain like a stone

Because we had moved from our pretty house to a neighborhood foreign to my eyes

When I was ten I carved my heart out through a pen

All the loss of missing a mother splattered on paper

When I was twelve I fell in love with essays

I found it hard to find full stops for an end to words

When I was fourteen I kept two diaries because I found out

Words were a necessity for my survival

When I was sixteen the last page of my every notebook

Was splattered with poems and thoughts that couldn’t stay still

Today you say I am too deep for you, too dark

I think too much; I live in sighs

But how can I explain to you

That it is not for greatness, not out of want

It is my basis of survival rooted in my veins

Not for applaud or choruses

But to breathe

How can I explain how poetry invigorates me

Give me rain and a poem and I will forget existence

Give me a pen and a paper and I will forget you

And if I seem too deep too much too far

Leave me be

My words will take me home.

 

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