The paper listens,
A pen is my voice.
So I cry by writing and
Play with rhymes like toys,
I bleed into words,
It lets my scars heal,
So I write a lot of
Poetry on how I feel.
A book doesn't judge,
Nor does a sheet,
Pages understand ,
They make me complete.
People are cruel,
Except a few,
But poetry is kind ,
Old or new.
So I write my feelings out,
By sentences and poetry,
But if people ask,
No, there is nothing wrong with me.