My love for words

A melody stuck in my head to
a memory that stays in my heart.

A painful past to
a hopeful future.

A devastating world that I live in to
an imaginary fantasy that I escape in.

Anything and everything
that rushes me to
grab hold of a pen,

that makes my heart beat faster,
as my face breaks into a silly smile.

My hands moving faster
than my brain
as I struggle to not miss
the train of thought.

I juggle through
all my favourite words.

One better than the other,
as I find the one
that best expresses
my emotion in the moment.

A perfect word
in the flawed poem.
A perfect feeling
from a not so perfect being.

A flower in my garden,
a song in my playlist.

A book on my shelf,
a movie in my watchlist.

A fairytale, a kind act.
A nightmare, a bitter fact.
Any story that finds words.

I pen all the feelings
that are worthy to be read
as I corrupt the white sheets
with the darkest of inks.

Sometimes I praise the stars
that are sprinkled
all across the night sky.
Just as my emotions
that scatter on the pale paper.

Other times,
I write about the embrace of rain
and it's music
in the language of serene.
Which is spoken by many,
but heard by few.
Just like my poetry,
words that are read the same by all
but assumed differently
by one.

However, don't mistake me.
I write not for the stars,
they're too far
to read my words.
I write not for the rain,
they speak the language of love,
not english.

I write for me,
for the joy,
and for the pain.

Writing to me
is exploring
myself and the world

Writing is the entwining
of my inner solitude
with my worldly demons.

A golden thread woven
between
purity and desires.

I float in music
drinking art
as I sink in the ocean
of my heart.

Writing is like the milk
that is added
to the bitterest coffee beans.
It turns the most painful memories
into bliss as we face our past
not with regret,
but with a smile.

I write because I have to.
I'd go insane
if I decided not to.

For there's no beauty
compared to a poem.
No power
compared to words.
And no life
compared to an artist's.

You can't see my heart race
as I letter the words
with a serious face
but a delighted heart

As I try to mimic
not a poet,
but poetry itself.
Not an artist,
but art itself.

As I embody beauty and pain
and let the words flow,
and dreams leak.
word by word,
drop by drop.

No one can fathom
nor comprehend
my love for words.

For if they had been in love,
not with a person
but with their purpose,
maybe then
they'd come close
to read me.

To read me as I am.