My words.

Tonight I sat down to write a poem.
The last couple of days I have felt the words swelling inside of me.
I knew that very soon, they'd burst out.

And so, I sat down at my desk and as soon as I picked up a pen, it scratched over the paper almost by itself.
And it felt so good.
But then I made a mistake. Or, actually two mistakes.
Instead of letting the words heal me, release me from what was pressing so heavy on my chest, I let myself be overwhelmed with anger and a dash of bitterness. I wanted to use the poem to expose weakness, to take vengeance.
And then, even worse - I tried to sound like somebody else.
I used words that are not mine.

Suddenly I was afraid of this intimate moment between me and the words, this moment when the words uncover what I was trying to hide from myself.
But this made me realise, that words are my answer.
They are my way out. Out of confusion. Out of fear. Out of depression.

And at the same time they are an entrance to a whole new world.