So raw these words fall from my mouth

And form themselves on a page,

It is the only place I'm honest,

Often the reader is just myself.

I must create a work of art

That represents my heart.

When wounds cut deep

I bleed out words

And clean them up with paper.

When feelings fester

And rage comes forth,

The pencil is my tool

To orchestrate a remedy

Before I am a fool.

When joy is eminent and flooding over

I laugh out couplets and rhymes.

Words not spoken but words that are thought,

Modified,

Written.

These are the words that encapsulate

All that I am, by God permitting.

~Heidi Joens