Sure you can rhyme fine, but are you feeling what you’re saying?
Are you meaning what you are feeling, do you write what you’re perceiving? Or are you deceiving?
With me, my head fills up, my insides fall out.
I write what I bleed, I bleed when I write,
this was never just a hobby for me, this is a basic need.
Writing feelings, which I could never really speak,
Was not and is not, just something I got good at.
It has become, the only way I have control,
It has become, my right hand and both my legs.
I unlock myself, with my key, with my mind.
On paper I feel free, through my words, do you feel me?
My best actions, seem to be with words, I mix and match them.
If this existence, is as lonely as it feels, at least I have this.