During many of my solitary hours with pen in hand, I try to write about things that matter. I write poetry mostly, figuring it's good for the soul, helps keep me focused, and perhaps will leave a legacy of hope if anyone ever finds it/me. There are just so many feelings inside of me, without a place to funnel them I fear I might collapse under the weight of it all.
I write about important things, deep and brooding spaces I know others will relate to. My passion in life is to inspire those like me who feel helpless and alone. When I write, my heart expands to the downtrodden and weary, but it also uplifts and feels hope for those survivors who have gone before me. Words are so powerful. I don't know where my talent came from, but I'm exercising my literary muscles in defiance against this never ending oppression. I WILL be heard some day.
The following is a sample of my work...
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I'm starving,
Bacon.
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