With a pencil in my hand

O am at ease,

I am free. 

I am finally me.

It's how I let people in.

What I write is who I am.

My secrets are splashed across those pages.

The characters take every breath of me.

Sometimes I can't find the right words,

Can't tell you how I think or feel.

But give me something to write with 

And the words flow effortlessly.

My mouth may be silent,

But my pencil speaks volumes.

I am a writer.

To know me,

You must sit and read.

8.5.11