I’ve always had trouble with words.

My whole life, they have gotten stuck in my throat,
my mind whispering to shove them back down,
where they get locked in my heart,
never to be heard.

I don’t know why my mind does it,
why it has trained me to think that
no one wants to hear my words,
my thoughts and opinions.

The only time that the lock is opened
is when I write. For whatever reason,
once I have a pencil and a piece of paper,
all those words are set free.

From there, they spill out, dance along the page,
poured from my inner self until they are their
own being. They roam where they wish,
and my heart is finally light once more.

This is my reason for writing.
I cannot speak and be who I am
without my ability to write.
What is your reason?