create

when my hands

want to destroy

i create

heart screaming

for an end to the pity

the misery

when they are balled into fists

skin peeling from knuckles

raw and raspberry-red

mixed with an unhealthy dash

of sadness and dread

when my palms are sore

and my fingers worn

the words are cradled

and art is born

i kill off

every part of me

that has forgotten empathy

to make space

for a kinder place

i turn my page

into a haven of joy

when the rage

pulses on my tongue

coats my teeth in

bitterness and defeat

holds my voice

so I cannot speak

i hold up the ink

to the microphone

and I am home

and in the flickering lights

inside my mind

i find

there is still time

and in the flickering lights

of myself

i reach for help

when I cannot ask for it

my fingers dance

until I am entranced

and suddenly, I forget

why I was afraid

what a beautiful mess

my hands have made

what a relief

to have a friend in my page

i think I was made

to create.

18:25pm - 30/09/25.