We are poets.
We find ourselves at 3am with overthinking minds
where writing becomes our solace.
We fall in love with language because we are the writers of words long forgotten.
We spend hours trying to describe poetically
the simplest things you could imagine
or we spend a few minutes trying to explain the meaning of life.
We have the darkest and most twisted minds,
filled with beauty and madness
We write so much that not writing makes us anxious
We are the dreamers in an awake world
the sufferers in a peaceful time.
We are poets,
and our fingers become the pen in which we write
as we pour out our souls onto the page of our hearts
We write until our words become us
and we write until moving a pen across paper
becomes our breathing.