Writing is a painful bliss. A piece of me remains on the page long after I have placed down my pen. I am a writer of life. I am a healer, healing my own festering wounds, tainting my soul with a callous ugliness, an enveloping bitterness of hopelessness, trying to suffocate my voice, my words. Writing is my sanity. It keeps me grounded in my creativity and allows me to travel along the dusty trails and mountain ranges of the imagination. It keeps my dreams insight, although just a little out of reach. Writing is my bridge to humanity, it stamps out the horrors of the world. It is hope-filled and dark, sometimes. It is fueled by emotion and bath in truth, my truth.

to write saves me from
bitter inhumanity
and empowers me