You Asked Me Who I Write For


She puts her pen to paper

and it moves without any conscious thought.

When she's done,

when her hand is too sore to write one more letter,

and her mind is too drained to think one more thought,

she looks down and reads aloud all the words she was too afraid to say to herself.

She listens to her voice for the first time in a while,

and as she speaks, she can taste the freedom in her own words.

She doesn't know if she likes what she's saying,

but she loves thats she's hearing it.


You ask me who I write for.

My most honest answer is that I write for myself.

Because in the end I'm the only person that I know for sure that I can change with my words.


Trust me, there's nobility in writing for the sole purpose of freeing someone else's soul,

or connecting to it,

or just letting someone know that you've been there and you've felt that.

But freeing your our own soul?

Revealing every insecurity,

every secret,

every fear,

every hope,

and every dream when you write them down.

And reliving them all everytime you speak them out loud.

Writing poetry to free oneself is opening the cage to a dungeon

and not knowing what's going to escape from the darknes.

It's not for the faiint of heart.

Nor is it easily achieved.

Yet, I strive to reach for that freedom with poetry as my tool,

or weapon,

if you're a "Life is a battle." type of person.

With every letter and word I mold into poetic prose.

I aim to bring another part of myself into the sun,

I aim to shine light on my most darkest corners.


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