I am a writer not by choice. The pen held my hand and together we bled. It told me that I need not keep the torment in my heart because it belonged on paper and that it would show me out of my suffering if I surrendered to it. The thought of surrendering comforted me. Pen, ink, paper, we became one, to give and forgive.
I ride in happiness and freedom much more often now. I am indebted to my angel of poetry. Thank you for giving me life, so I can journey it to learn and embody love, forgiveness, and gratitude. Please let me guide your light to others who need it too.
