Why I Write

They ask me where I find

Such painful rhymes.

 

I tell them they are born

On the nights when

I am walking home

My soul barren

And I see a car

That looks like yours

And my heart

Bursts out of my core.

I rush to my door,

Terrified but thrilled;

This is the paranoia

You helped build.

It is on those nights

When I sense you

In the shower

Your embrace on my body

And I tremor

Trying to erase the memory.

It is when the first image I see

When I wake up alone on Sunday morning

Is the picture you got me

of the beach, and behind it a forewarning

of what was to come.

It was a quote

That you wrote:

About how we only live once

But if we do this right,

once would suffice.

But what is the point of living

With that idea in my mind

When all my surroundings

Are remnants you left behind?

 

They ask me why I write,

It’s hard for me to explain.

Words are weapons,

They help me fight:

True strength only comes from pain.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Author: Kalia Attal

I am an aspiring investigative journalist with a single dream: to save the world. It may seem impossible, but I believe knowledge promotes tolerance, and tolerance breeds empathy, kindness, and compassion. Love is the cure for Earth's cancer.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s