I could lie down on a small black couch
to fill the air with all my petty cares.
Or keep it bottled up inside
and let smolder,
until my face is lined, grey, and older.
Instead I use a pen, blank paper
to strip away sadness, fear and doubt.
From these bare bones I create art,
rhymes and verses form poems from my heart.
Words stitch together emotional gashes,
from pain comes meaning,
a phoenix rising from the ashes.