These words are an expansion of myself.
With every letter my pen forms on paper,
My heart joins it.
A written contract,
Formally bonded
When the ink sets.
I write not for the recognition,
But for the sake of my sanity.
For without this action
The emotions flowing through me
Would have no place to go.
Backing up until they could no longer course through me.
Stopping still.
They must move
Or else they'll solidify.
Turning me into stone.
A statue whose visage
Does not smile nor frown
For there is no sculptor
To define it's countenance.
It simply goes with the fate
It was handed-
A girl lacking the emotions
Only her pen can form.

The season's
in treason
against the breathing
and breeding
of we  men,
because we believe  in
decreasing
the seeding
of trees  and
plants feeding.