It started with a wish,
A dream that buried deep inside my soul.
That whispered peaceful thoughts through my head.
My own mind created something
My fingers held that pencil like a sword
The voices in my head spoke to me
In ways I never imagined
I wrote their words on paper
They were my little secret.
Day after day, the words kept spilling
Like droplets of blood
It was my blood after all
that brought the stories to life that night
“Just a little longer,” I mumble to my sore hand
As once again,
My mind was filled with words.
This was my kind of freedom.