I remember a time where words flowed from my fingers like the floods from rivers and waterfalls
They seem to have missed when they'd cross my inspiration and I'd join them together to make a universal bond
Pulses spread all over my body , to each organ a heart of its own and to each word a beat
This typing process does not appeal to me or them
They would want you to see how my feather draws the lines and turns of their characters
My childhood is a matter of walls I used to fill with ink and colors
Each wall of my room was a chapter and pages carried within them the thoughts of an unusual girl
Landscapes of scattered words , they were my shelter
My bed was the rock I'd climb on to reach my sky
A time where nothing made sense except a world that is not seen through her people's acts
Her diaries were her advocates , they were the provider of her rights
Her anger has known papers , and the ink did long for the tears to mingle
The walls were painted blank and the sheets were torn and ripped to bits
The ink dried out and so did the tears..
All has vanished , I remain with the girl within the layers of my memories.