A Writer's Pain

A writer’s pain is a paper

Where she places her thoughts into words

Her feelings, her contemplations

Her emotions and everything she can feel

Plain, lined, crumpled, whatever won’t matter

As long as she can spill the beans

And diminish her load

A writer’s pain is a pen

The ink that will stain those blank sheets

When its tip touches the surface,

It makes the invisible visible to the eyes

Her pain in words, she can see in front of her

A thing she considered a warning

For when she holds it

She swims into another realm

A writer’s pain is her hand

Those fingers that hold the pen

Controlling every stroke it makes

Her hands that can reveal what’s intrinsic

With a swish

Those hands which want to hold

Something else and never let go

But she can only hold those things she knows

She can

A writer’s pain is her mind

Those swirls of thoughts she had for days

Where the things she perceived are stuck

Those thoughts that consume her system

Making her sane and insane

And like an ocean – blue and deep,

Yet silently dangerous

As much as how enthralling it is,

She can drown

Her mind which can hold a scene far from reality

Her mind which admits being

A fan of surrealism

A writer’s pain is her heart

It continues to beat until life decides

To take it or she does

Her heart which feels everything

Her heart that often overthrows her mind

The only thing that makes her doubt

Where everything sprung

Those emotions that pierced her through

Tightening her chest making it hard to breathe

Her heart that can take away her life

Yearning, aching and crying

At once she wished it stopped

A writer’s pain is her final piece

The evidence of her pain

Making it seen

Screaming her hidden aspirations

The thing what every writer would call

A masterpiece

Is what makes her vulnerable

She reads then she cries

For she knows it’s just “those thoughts”

Her imagination that caused her

To fill an empty sheet

She can only dream and managed to see it

That piece, that masterpiece,

Holds everything she ever wanted

That pain is so far away

Too far away

Places where she wanted to go,

One she wants to be with,

That touch that will send shivers down her spine,

Or that warmth from an embrace

Those things she can think of

But can’t make it happen

But that writer’s pain is what paints 

A smile on people

And she needed those

So, she continues to write her pain

She’ll eventually bleed but she’ll be happy

If that would give you a feeling of something

It’s a good pain, yes, it’s a writer’s pain…