I lie on my bed,
staring at the ceiling.
The tears that have been streaming down my face,
are starting to stain my sheets.

Who is this person I have become?

I glance over at my dark desk
with a single piece of paper and pen on top of it.
I slowly drag myself out of bed
and plop down into the chair.

I stare at the paper for a few minutes,
rotating the pen between my fingers.
I drop the pen and start sobbing even harder,
my heart tainted with hatred and pain.

The paper is now stained with my tears.
I have finally composed myself and begin writing,
not letting my brain control what I write,
but letting my emotions control my hand.

I let all the hatred,
all of the sadness,
all of the pain,
flow out of me and seep on to the tear stained paper.

Such a relieving feeling this is.

I softly place the pen on my desk
and look at what I just wrote.
Reading the very emotions that have changed me,
on a single piece of paper.

The anger I have had towards certain people.
The pain of losing someone I loved so deeply.
The sadness of this person I am becoming.
The fear of what is to come…

…is all on here.

I smile slightly for the first time in awhile.
Seeing my emotions on paper makes them feel less overwhelming.
I feel freed of the weight my emotions seem to crush me with,
and being freed of this burden makes me feel like myself again.

The real me.

The power of writing is an amazing thing.
If it wasn’t for writing,
I still would be laying on my tear stained sheets,
under the weight of my hatred and pain.

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