I write.

If I could I might sing my sorrows
or draw out my dreams.
But my only talent is to pen out
and to persevere.

"For what?", you might ask.
It is to sing out my sorrows
and to draw out my dreams.

There is no greater form of validation
and my single form of comfort.
When the words are choked in my throat
and the visions are fleeting in my head.

I write.