My warm, salty tears stream down my face onto the paper, smearing my words of ink. My hand shakes as the words rush out of me like a torrid hurricane. Nothing else around me matters except for taking the storm of words clouding my brain and transferring them from my mind, to pen, to paper. This is how I escape. This is how I express how I am truly feeling inside. Sometimes my mind goes so fast my hand can’t keep up and sometimes what I write doesn’t even make sense, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because as long as that pen is in my hand, I have control, and when that pen hits the paper I am liberated. I am free.
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