As she wrote every stroke of the pen
brought back a memory, a trauma.
The more she wrote, the freer she felt.
It was like the chains that had kept her captive
all those years had dissolved.
As she wrote every stroke was like a breath
of fresh air. She was finally free from herself.
Her brain was not a prison cell anymore,
it was her saviour. It gave her wings, let her fly,
carried her with the wind. Gently soaring in the clouds
As she wrote every stroke was therapy.
Every word, every line, everything she
ever wanted to say was finally out.
Every thought inked onto the page.
No more festering inside her like an infected wound.
No more razorblades, no more self-hatred.
As she wrote every stroke of the pen was like
a little piece of her heart coming back to life.
A she wrote, every word was a reason to fight.
As she wrote, every line was a new beginning.
Now she can start her road to recovery.
-- By Aurora Faustini