When I write....

I love the way the words look, all of a piece on the parchment beneath my hands, weaving my thoughts into a tapestry, like a spider weaving a web.
I love the way I can make them rhyme.
I love the smell of the very ink I use.
When I write I am the real me. I am whole, beautiful, filled with a sense of pleasure and worth.

Why can`t they all just leave it to be?


Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons : The Story of Phillis Whitley; Ann Rinadi