The Writer, by me. (Brittany Chenault)

Whenever I'm staring at you,

I see that I'm bound. 

For you are clean and white,

And I am dirty and grey. 

My feelings knotted up, one by one,

All day, All night, I have been. 

I pick up my pencil. 

I begin to scribble, feel the release.

The cleanliness is muddled by me.

Everything I see, hear, think, 

The pain, the tears, the joy, the hunger, is now all there.

Dirty. 

I'm staring back at me.

The words just gave my heart a voice,

And I cannot deny how I feel.

I am on the paper, true and bold.

Thank you, slate for tolerating my messiness.

Thank you words, for giving my soul a reason.

Thank you pencil, for taking the brunt,

And thank you reader, for taking me in.