I grew up, reading books in the corners of dusty libraries. Writing poetry to ease the sorrows inside of my chest. It seemed so natural to me, coming to me like breathing.
I grew to love writing poetry, I grew to love writing my own works. My own stories and own universes with a pen and paper.
Reading was always my joy, and now, I wish to bring that joy to someone else.
I've got more to prove than most
Opening old wounds on the heart
Just to prove a point
...
Why are you ever so calming?
Reminding me of a distant song
From so long ago that I can barely recall
...
Attempt one was when I was far too young
To understand the loneliness,
The pain in my heart
...
Frost on the window painting the room as the sunlight shines through
Shivering from the cold, wrapped in warmth
It's an early Sunday morning
Painting my white silk sheets in a cruel ice blue
...