To others it may just seem like words on a page,
But for her it was her voice, an untamed rage.
It wasn’t just black ink against white lines,
There was a hidden world living between the signs.
She wrote in different letters and forms,
Pouring out chaos, heartbreak, and storms.
Each sentence carried a part of her pain,
A silent scream she had buried in shame.
When the blank page met her eyes,
She wrote to keep herself alive.
For when her voice could not find a way,
The paper listened to all she couldn’t say.
