Writing my Soul

What do my words mean?

I write them, they flow from my pen, my fingers,

Subjectivity is apparent,

Wisps of my mind becoming solid,

Air and water moving my heart,

I continue on this journey,

Creating sentences, phrases, prose,

It all comes to fruition,

And exists captured,

On white paper, in black ink,

My heart and mind exposed,

For anyone to read,

To decipherer a meaning,

To comprehend my soul.

I reveal myself, 

Through grammar and punctuation,

With the hopes of purging pain,

Of making sense of the confusion,

That plagues me in this life,

That follows me everywhere.

What is it for?

The words exist in pure form as a release,

They are guiding me,

Down the road of self discovery.

So the rhythm of my words press on,

Into the paper with a pen for a sword,

Making an imprint of my soul.

And onto the screen with the tap tapping 

Of the keyboard.

Moment upon moment is dressed through words,

Taking away the nakedness of my sorrow,

The blankness of my mind,

The uneasiness of personality.

It all becomes a tribute,

A concoction of love,

A silent song in black and white.