To write is to exhale
The words take shape
I'm vulnerable to exposing
Truths hidden behind my veil
Each phrase pulls me further
Powerless to its seduction
I'm directed by the story
Exposing places my mind may wander
Naked to the body of my work
Honest in ways that purge the pain
Revel in my passions and joys
That had receded but no longer lurk
Pen to paper or fingers to a board
Cathartic measures to release the breath
Of jumbled nonsense dancing in my head
Now the words have spoken, no need to hoard
To write is to exhale
To release the tortuous clog
The addict gets her fix
And the prose end my need to wail
(2/27/14 6: 47pm)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem