I write a lot.
Sometimes I write about you,
Others about the world,
Always about myself.

It’s not self indulgence,
Rather a catharsis.
I clean my wounds.
I heal my trauma,
With every word I bend.

I find solace in an empty page.
I hear the echo of my thoughts.
I create space for my demon
To exit my brain and bleed on paper.

I externalise the worst parts of myself
So that they occupy a different home
And distance themselves.

My fears breathe through these lines
Or else they suffocate me
And leave me to drown in tears.

Even before I knew what therapy meant,
My poems have accompanied me
Through the highs and all the lows.
They have become my refuge
And an antidote to desperation.