The Ink Bleeds



I write because the ink bleeds


Even when I don’t


They tell me to speak my mind


But childhood taught me that I am to be seen


And not heard


So I won’t be heard


But I will be read


Even if the words are jumbled




Pieced together


A bloody mess


I will be read, because no one else knows what I have to say


I write because it hurts


Even when I don’t


Because it’s magical


Even when I’m not


I write because the sickness of the mind is really sickness of the heart


And words can be a cure


Even if it’s little old me writing those words


I write because my ancestors were told that they couldn’t speak


So instead, they wrote


And wrote


And wrote


So I carry their souls in mine as I put pen to paper


And I do the unthinkable by daring to challenge


To create


To idealize


To idolize


To preach


To tell you what’s wrong with the world and how to fix


I write because the ink bleeds


Even when I don’t


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