I bleed words;

They exit my body with a flow.

All the syllables in my head,

Must have somewhere to go.

Paper receives,

With the most open mind of all.

It doesn't criticize,

It doesn't wait for me to fall.

My poems are bones,

They build me up to set me free.

So with this strength,

I am finally allowed to be me.

So while others suck my blood and break my bones,

I will just keep writing with all that I've known.