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Poem

I stare at my screen
Knowing the feeling I want to express but
The words refuse to come.
My fingers hover,
Waiting to be used
Waiting for my speech
My eloquent thoughts
To write themselves.
But nothing comes

I cannot say what I want
With the voice that I have.
My simple words cannot communicate
All the emotion I know is there.
They are not good enough to be beautiful
They are not enough.
I am not enough.
The screen turns black
As if telling me to give in.
My thoughts seem small and 
Insignificant

Then
From the stillness sings a voice
To tell me I can.
To tell me it is not about waiting
For the perfect words
I must find my own way.
It is not about anyone else
It is about me.
And I know,
I know what to do.

Embrace my own hurt
Turn it into light,
And peace,
And joy.

Without knowing,
I have created a poem,
A song,
Something wonderful.
Beauty that came from despair.
They will say it is a waste
Of time,
Of paper,
Of myself.
That it is only endless words
Meaning nothing.
They are right. 
It means nothing to them
Because I did not write it for them.

It is mine.
And it is beautiful.

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