monologue

People find comfort in exerting emotion

Whichever way possible it just feels good

They scream, or cry, or punch and hit

But me? I write.

I write till my hands cramps up

And once I’m done the page is either filled with poetry or chicken scratch one can barely read

But the content isn’t what matters

It is what it does for you

You feel better that you’ve communicated emotion and that is what is wonderful

When you write there is no judgment

It is you and the words on your paper

No one there to question your emotion

No need to justify it

You express it. It’s there. That’s it.