So She Writes...

Short pre-speech
This poem simply speaks of the release only writing brings


She breaks like boughs in lullabies.
Only a little more staccato and rigid...
A little less poetic...
Her descension into perdition is cause for revolution
But her freedom songs are more like distasteful ramblings and obsequious love poems composed in fits of rage and with syrupy residue on fingertips.
She screams
At her lungs capacity
But loose ends and untied shoe laces mute her mantras
...only to force themselves upon canvass after the dust settles...
Her vowels refuse to be bitter, only resolute...only methodical...
Like wind songs and sunshine abducting dew from grass blades at noonday...
Soft whispers as these four corners constrain, and bind her rage,
Transforming it into clarity…The translation: beauty.
So she writes... in silence
To hear the light coming through the cracks a little more clearly and to form clarity from the turbulence that encompasses her frayed edges at midnight.
This is her only escape...her Godsend.
She is eternally indebted to this blessing...
So, she writes.