I write,
Because I need to process,
To release and make visible,
What I feel.
To make sense of myself,
And my place in this world,
As I act and am acted upon,
At times, getting shaken and pushed out of balance.
Pen and paper are there,
Quietly waiting for me,
To share, in my own time,
What has happened.
Helping me to teach myself,
Who I am,
And what I need,
In absolute honesty.
And helping me to heal,
By acknowledging in ink,
The pain kept inside.
Letting me feel what I need to feel.
It's just words on paper,
But somehow,
It means everything,
To me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem