Yet another sleepless night,
to toss, to turn, and put up a fight
against the war that goes raging inside of my head -
the war that I quietly fight from my bed.
The war between things that I think but can’t say,
the things that rampage through my mind every day.
The anger, the sadness, and things I can’t change.
All these built up emotions would surely destroy me
if it weren’t for the pen and the page that employ me.
A writer at heart and a writer by will,
it’s the only thing that I know to do still.
When my breathing won’t calm and my mind will not rest,
the pen and the page are soon put to the test.
I write and soon feel all the negative leaving,
a peace I’ve come to find brilliant, intriguing.
The astonishing part is the way the words change -
that is the part that I deem as most strange.
The jumbled, unintelligible mess in my head
forms a simple, yet intricate story instead.
The pen meets the paper and my mind leaves the world,
and into my “happy place” I am soon whirled.
I write to inform, to persuade, and entertain,
but I write for myself, so that I can stay sane.
Though my reasons for writing may seem very selfish,
there are also other things I hope to accomplish.
I hope to change minds, open eyes, and inspire,
I hope to cause wonderful things to transpire.
If mere combinations of twenty-six letters
can change someone’s thoughts or their views for the better,
then I will keep writing and thinking all night -
it’s just one more reason to keep up the fight.