Teardrops running down my faceand life seems like a falling grace.I take my pencil and a pen and write down every step, and then... THEN I know what I have done, I let my feeling free to run. To run all over from left to right, yet stuck there with no place to hide. Set free for all of those to see, for all the ones that anger me.I know, I know it's negative,yet I have but alternatives. And when I do, I write a lot. I write about what's good and not. Then, once read you realize it, a poem is but a story of my life. Life is a poem within itself.