Razors Or Pens? Poem by Elizabeth Turner

If black was an emotion it would be sorrow and anger in a combo of one. LIke the feeling of my heart beat against my chest as thy blood pumps with rage.

As one slits his wrists from depression, I take the other road. The road of courage to write this poem.

As one screams with dreadful anger, I write these golden letters.

Some people can't take pain. They don't feel accepted. I turn anything of the sort into a sorrowful yet glistening piece of art, with the hope of good luck waiting for me around the corner.

I know it can only get better from here. Here I write this poem for the sea of outcasts that stand before me waving their hands and standing out of the crowd. Here...I write this... for you.