Collection of the dark days

Words

They are all I have in expression
Varying combinations of 26 letters
I read so many
Books, books, books
I began to lose myself
But I also developed myself
I can pick out the pieces
Of my personality
In many novels
The ones that changed me
I could name them
I remember them as their battered copies
Remember me

I write because I want to
Because I feel words
Like some writhing just under my skin
I absorbed so many
In my desperation not to be
So alone
In that desperation
I didn't stop to question
What would happen when
Those absorbed words wanted freedom?
And now they burst
From the end of a pen or pencil

This is my potential
In my words I find a peaceful silence
That very few understand
And even fewer care to admit
But in words I can scream
All the things I didn't know I was feeling
All the things I kept
Bottled & locked up
I can understand why
Why I'm so angry
Why I can snap so easily
Why I see genuinely happy families
Why I see people happy and have to look away
They haven't had to claw & struggle to smile
I'm still not sure whether it's jealousy or pride
For a stranger

I read so smoothly
Because I was never read to
And when I got bored of my bedtime stories
I made up my own
Tales of adventure & of heroes
Of heartbreak & sadness
Of joy & eternal friendship
All those small childish hopes
Even at a young age
I was pushed & driven by words