On writing

There’s a piece of my heart
on blank paper.
Words with blood stains
exposed to the outside world.

There’s a piece of my mind
on blank paper.
Letters, saying things that
usually only echo inside my head

There’s a piece of my soul
on blank paper.
Black ink describing
inner longings to outer listeners

There’s a piece of my heart
on blank paper,
bringing it to life;
giving it a soul and a mind
of its own.