I have trouble speaking aloud; it could because of the bullies. Words are easier to write, I don't have to worry. My voice will not shake; my hand is firm, as my pen creates a world out of my own words. People can't judge, because the author is unknown. No one knows that poem they love is by the girl sitting alone. I've lived in the shadows, consumed by fear, thinking over and over it would get worse from here. But that was wrong, I've held myself back. Never again will I live in silence with just the pen in my hands. The bullies don't scare me and I speak loud and clear. Word may be easier to write, but I no longer fear. I write to breathe, and I breathe to write. I write for the ones who have given up the fight. Does that answer your question? Do you realize it now? I write for the ones who have given up their life.