I sit alone in my room,
I'm hurt, not physically.
I'm trying to convert the pain into something,
creativity knocks my door:
"Let me help you"
is what I hear coming out of that tiny fragile figure, that I can never figure out a gender, shade or even a shape.
Suddenly I start writing, some of them I read, and then reread and I feel as if they express exactly how I feel.
Some of them I feel they're not enough.
Whatever the case, I know they help me heal, as much as their power allows them.
A little bit of the sting deep inside my soul, carved into my heart, is relieved,
a tiny piece of the burden that weighs me back, is lifted up.