A purpose runs in my veins 

, shines onto my flaws, though it cleans

A pale of when, a pale of what happened 

I, as a child was molested 

I, as a child was bullied

I, as a child believed that I was born as nothing

what a name could it have been of mine

, others told me that I was just fine

fine is a word that makes my wounds want to bleed more

, a word that force the tears to run from my hazels and down my cheeks

What am i for?

alive? what for?

The burns of if , the pains of did 

The solid of faith, the melt of denial

I failed pain, I failed I

I held a bit in me, a sore of wanting to un-pain me, myself, and I

an eternity of holding the pains in my hand like a toddler begging his dad to get it off

, an enemy I thought

a time period of self discovery, there was interferers that I fought

a name of mine is a library that is designing me, molding me, and teaching me

the coaches the books of my life are, I am the writer who wrote them 

the words that coaches me, coaches me as I write the life of me.

So, writing is my lord,

the day I attempeted to spare my pain, it saved me, 

the day when all of it felt too much, it calmed me,

what pains my name has, created the writer I am to be.

So, words are my mentor,

I am alive because of them, I want to exist because of them,

nothing in me is a crack of a light so dim,

a pure light they said I was, words fathered me to bright them,

so thank you words, I love you.