They ask me
Why I write?
Why do I write the things I do?
Because when I can’t breathe
Air flows from the calligraphy of my thoughts
When I can’t see
The words give me
Untainted vision through rose colored glasses
When I am in pain
The pen understands
And holds my hand with a comforting familiarity
Of all things, why writing?
The sun that shines on the darkness in my mind
Open gates when I have caged myself in
Pineapple slices that sting your tongue and make you feel alive
Dog eared book pages
No fences to jump
No faces to smile at
No lies to tell