WEEPING SOUL
When words are too weighty for the mouth, the soul weeps in anguish,
Mine is howling unceasingly presently.
Regardless of what I do, there is no way to console it,
I feel withered and gloomy,
Expressions flee!
I feel lonely,
I'm lonely in some horribly deep way,
For a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely and how deep this horrible feeling runs,
It jolts me to be this lonely because it seems ruinous.
Safe haven I seek in my pen and ink,
Somewhere, mixed in with all this ink, is my bliss,
Tears are words that need to be written.
Ho! Ho! Ho! When I write, my heart heals, my woes are drowned!
I am a genius of sadness, I immerse myself in it, I separate its numerous strands, and I appreciate its subtle nuances. I am a prism through which sadness is divided into its infinite spectrum.
I choose to write because it's perfect for me. It's an escape, a place I can go to hide. It's a friend, when I feel out casted from everyone else. It's a journal, when the only story I can tell is my own. It's a book, when I need to be somewhere else. It's control, when I feel so out of control. It's healing, when everything seems pretty messed up. When I write, I make discoveries about my feelings; and it's fun, when life is just flat-out boring.
I write to find strength, I write to become the person that hides inside me, I write to light the way through the darkness filling me, I write to articulate love, I write by accident, promptings, purposefully and anywhere there is paper, I write because my heart speaks a different language that someone needs to hear, I write past the embarrassment of exposure, I write myself out of heartbreaks, I write because I am nostalgic and romantic, I write to remember, I write knowing conversations don’t always take place, I write because speaking can’t be reread, I write to sooth a mind that races, I write because I can play on the page like a child left alone in the sand, I write because my emotions belong to the moon; high tide, low tide, I write knowing I will fall on my words, but no one will say it was for very long, I write because I want to paint my heart, I write to make sense out of senselessness, I write knowing I might be suffocated by my own words, stabbed by critics, crucified by both misunderstanding and understanding, I write for lovers, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the dreamers, I write because one day someone will tell me that my emotions were not a waste of time.
My sad heart will heal in time after writing, and when it does, these words sealed inside will comfort me.
Mine is howling unceasingly presently.
Regardless of what I do, there is no way to console it,
I feel withered and gloomy,
Expressions flee!
I feel lonely,
I'm lonely in some horribly deep way,
For a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely and how deep this horrible feeling runs,
It jolts me to be this lonely because it seems ruinous.
Safe haven I seek in my pen and ink,
Somewhere, mixed in with all this ink, is my bliss,
Tears are words that need to be written.
Ho! Ho! Ho! When I write, my heart heals, my woes are drowned!
I am a genius of sadness, I immerse myself in it, I separate its numerous strands, and I appreciate its subtle nuances. I am a prism through which sadness is divided into its infinite spectrum.
I choose to write because it's perfect for me. It's an escape, a place I can go to hide. It's a friend, when I feel out casted from everyone else. It's a journal, when the only story I can tell is my own. It's a book, when I need to be somewhere else. It's control, when I feel so out of control. It's healing, when everything seems pretty messed up. When I write, I make discoveries about my feelings; and it's fun, when life is just flat-out boring.
I write to find strength, I write to become the person that hides inside me, I write to light the way through the darkness filling me, I write to articulate love, I write by accident, promptings, purposefully and anywhere there is paper, I write because my heart speaks a different language that someone needs to hear, I write past the embarrassment of exposure, I write myself out of heartbreaks, I write because I am nostalgic and romantic, I write to remember, I write knowing conversations don’t always take place, I write because speaking can’t be reread, I write to sooth a mind that races, I write because I can play on the page like a child left alone in the sand, I write because my emotions belong to the moon; high tide, low tide, I write knowing I will fall on my words, but no one will say it was for very long, I write because I want to paint my heart, I write to make sense out of senselessness, I write knowing I might be suffocated by my own words, stabbed by critics, crucified by both misunderstanding and understanding, I write for lovers, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the dreamers, I write because one day someone will tell me that my emotions were not a waste of time.
My sad heart will heal in time after writing, and when it does, these words sealed inside will comfort me.
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