I pour out my heart with each word I write,
Paying no mind to what’s wrong or right;
Speaking my truths, the words of my soul,
When I pick up my pen, I have no control.
I scream to the paper with ink black and blue,
Vomiting lines with my truth imbued;
I write with no sugar, no sweetness to coat,
No mercy for those who read what I wrote.
I have nothing to hide, no hidden shame,
for my words alone, I’ll swallow the blame;
I’ll write ’til my fingers bleed and they swell,
refusing to hold secret the tales I have to tell.
I tell of the monsters hiding deep in the night,
of liars and thieves, of love’s erotic delight;
Of scars marking flesh, bruises on skin,
infidelities, betrayals, guilt found within.
Nothing’s forbidden, my pen has no bounds;
imagination and life merge to create the sound
of silent speech, a book of secrets unfurled
to make children cry and tender toes curl.
I take no direction, I’ll follow no lead
I enter the gates and spread my inky seed
upon walls, upon paper, no structure is free
from the thoughts and ideas always haunting me.
I seek no absolution, no forgiveness, no applause;
I speak out of anger, I write for my cause.
I’ll scream to the skies, whisper through hell
forcing upon you nightmares I know well.
None will stop me, though many may try
With the pen in my hand, none are mightier than I!
My words are like swords in the hands of true knights
who choose their battles and win every fight.
Each poem I offer with my blood on the page,
Each word that I speak as I stand on the stage,
gives light in the darkness, truth to the lies,
brings hope to heavy hearts, tears to dry eyes.
It’s who I am, who I was meant to be;
as long as I write, my soul will stay free.
I’ll never give up, never walk from this fight;
I’ll always write the poems I’m not supposed to write.