The way that I write is the way that I feel,
that’s why it changes and that’s how it’s real.

Sometimes when I feel like there’s no one around,
like no one would hear me if I made a sound;
that’s when I write like a loved one just died,
that’s when I write like a child just cried,
that’s when I write like a gamblers debt-
consumed by a need that’s not satisfied yet,
that’s when I write like a warm, quiet rain-
wishing for someone to help numb the pain.

Then sometimes I feel like the whole world is mine,
like I don’t fear the fall, so I dance on the line;
that’s when I write like a big ocean wave-
surfing through life for the mavericks I crave,
that’s when I write like a dive in the lake-
like the world is reminding us, she is awake,
that’s when I write like those bright summer days-
a beautiful sunset with light orange rays.

And then there are nights when I feel so afraid,
afraid of the price that I still haven’t paid;
that’s when I write with a quivering hand,
shaking with torment too awful to stand,
with a fear of commitment, a fear of the truth,
a fear of the man who sits at the same booth,
that’s when I write but I choose not to share,
afraid that the people will fear what’s in there.

And then there are days when I write with my heart,
my brush wet with ambition, my words become art,
I write like my body just cannot sit still,
like “Why am I sitting with life to fulfill?”,
like a power inside me just needs to get out,
like a loud inner voice that is ready to shout;
that’s when I write to inspire mankind,
to show other people all that they can find,
that’s when I write like my name is a call,
a cry to be caught when they’ve taken a fall.

But some days I feel like the world has to pay,
for the pain people cause with the words that they say;
that’s when I write while I’m gritting my teeth,
freeing the demon I’ve hidden beneath,
that’s when I write like a whole different man,
tortured by hatred I never outran,
that’s when I write like my very first time,
untampered emotion released in its prime,
that’s when I write with a bruised, bleeding fist,
describing my problems like some kind of list.

And then comes the days like a gift from above,
when I write my soul, and the power of love;
and those days I write like the demon is gone,
like the darkness has faded to welcome the dawn,
those days I write like there’s not enough time-
to compress all my feelings and put them to rhyme,
those days I write like the battle is won-
like peace had been found and the war is now done,
like the touch of a loved one can rid you of breath-
and that pure emotion can’t end after death,
like the youth of a child is worth more than gold,
and the power of a kiss can’t be hidden or sold.

I write how I feel and I feel how I write,
in this world full of darkness my writings are a light.
My rhymes are my bloodline, these words are my drive,
I bleed them on paper to know I’m alive.
My mind’s on display- go ahead, take a look;
It shows my emotion, it lights every nook.
Each word is far greater than graphite or ink,
each letter reveals different ways that I think.
Each poem I make is a small paper mirror,
with each word I write, my reflection grows clearer.



Affiliate Disclosure: Some of the links or advertisements in the wordket website are affiliate links or advertisements, meaning, at no additional cost to you. We will earn a commission, if you click through and make a purchase. Thank you 🙂

Leave a Reply

You May Also Like
Read More


A gypsy flame is on the hearth, Sign of this carnival of mirth. Through the dun fields and…
Read More


Two traveling monks reached a river where they met a young woman. Wary of the current, she asked…
Read More

Do Not Delete!

Delete, delete, delete-that’s what we have been doing all along.Writings, memories, people- we have been deleting them all;on…
Read More


Clocked my hopes, sheltered my dreams. Masked my face, became devil’s advocate, played the role staggeringly well. Lost…
Read More

Infinite Life

This weeping willow! Why do you not plant a few For the millions of children not yet born,…