Poetry

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I don’t understand this urge to write
But it’s there just the same
With the same compelling drive
As the need to own my name.

It’s a calming, soothing release
AS it strikes my edginess
It pours out all my anguish
And relieves me of my stress.

Pen across paper, ink flowing free
Words take form beneath my hand
It soothes the soul, and clears the mind
Like a stroll across the sand.

Pen and paper, my release
My escape from teh day to day
Everything takes new form
I recreate, I mold like clay.

I write what I feel and see
Words are my life, my soul
They’ll show you what’s inside
Broken, incomplete, or whole.

You’ll see the real, honest me
If you take the time to look
My words reveal all of me
Like a smoothly written book.

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