Writing is something I need,
Desperately,
To get through the days,
That are cloudy.
Where the birds can play hide and go seek,
Like me emotions tend to do quite often.
Watching them play around in the clouds,
Telling me not to pay attention to the crowds.
Writing is something I need,
To be honet with me,
And to the others,
About who I want to be.
My journal can easily be compared-
To a day at the fellowship church.
Where my mind is full of confessions,
Of my weakest tempatations.
Writing is something I need,
To confess what I've been through,
To become stronger,
Sitting upon the bayou.
Water is seeping through my canoe,
Like tears forcefully sprout from eyes.
The sun is making it sparkle and glisten,
Telling me to sit back, relax and just listen.
