The world is constantly changingalways unstable. everywhere I look there is violence, a child dying.A family torn apart. I live in a time when children are killed  for going to school.I live in a time where women are simply womenand nothing more.Underneath it all: the violence, the prejudice, and the problems,we are left with one thing.  Words.Spoken words, thought of words, or written words. No matter the language, no matter the native tonguewe have words.  Words,express what cannot be heard.Words,tell the story of the child who is too afraid.Afraid of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.Words,speak for the woman who does not speak,instead she writes.  Instead I write. I am too afraid to speak, too afraid to be heard,too afraid of rejectiontoo quiet to be heard. I turn to writing, it becomes my refugee. I have found words are more forgivng than peoplemore welcoming and more loving.  Words tell me where I was, how I am, and where I hope to be.I write for the beauty, the simplicity, the freedoom.I write for the words.I write for me.  


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