Posted in Poetry

Silent secrets

I think there are millions of words

Jumbled up deep inside of me

They just swirl, surface and wait

For their unique sentences to be free

 

They are the letters of my past

That often hurt when read

They make up horrific words

That tell how often I bled

 

The current chosen format

My brain leaks poetry

The ever dripping tap

It is like it has to uncontrollably

 

My hands have to record

Typing or writing with speed

A cautionary tale of abuse

Listen to my story, heed!

 

Let the words trapped inside you

Be as free as your experience is

There is no worst loss than voice

Do not simply become his

 

 

 

 

 

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Author:

I was 46 years old when I begun this blog, female and married with a house full of cats (7). My past is littered with the impact of events that happened when I was a teen. Two loves of my life have been nursing and studying. I just completed my Master of Arts: Media Studies endorsement. My blog will be about the things I think about, that might be better served being written rather than squirreled away in my mind festering. It is the meanderings of my mind as I seek to define myself and my world.

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