It is clear now I can't ride away
From who I was and am today
Faced again with all this life
Born of love, yet raised in strife
Each time I feel I've broken free
I look inside and still find me
Not only a broken child inside
A writer with nothing left to hide
In the abyss of hopelessness I see
A writer is what I'm meant to be
A child, a woman, a wife, a friend
With each word I etch my heart does mend
My words not easy for some to read
Turn heads away as my heart bleeds
Cover their ears while I scream inside
Disdainfully scorn the words I scribe
This writing, my heart's only voice
The pain it feels is not a choice
But I can choose to let it go
Into the wind and watch it blow
Roll back the throttle, let my pen fly
Face in the wind drying tears I cry
My words the medicine to heal the sorrow
So I won't live my past tomorrow
In the abyss of hopelessness I see a writer is what I'm meant to be. . . Thank you for reading.
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