I write because there is no better listener
Than a blank page
It takes in and understands the things
Even I don’t
It carries the unrelated words
Turns them into stream of consciousness
It does nothing more than crease
Flipping memories and pain with ease
At my whim
It leaks stains of tears and ink
And when I’m done with it
It will only exist
If I keep it
There are so many words I’ve written
That even I dare not read again
They’re like knives, blades painted flashbacks
They’re better off in the dark
But I can’t take back what I said
Especially because I meant them
White blank pages heard me when no one ever did
And that’s why I keep them close with me
I write because there’s no one to listen
Truly listen
There are words I wrote which turn light to dark
They talk about my desires, my dreams
My happiness and the screams
The screams I couldn’t find a voice for
I wrote down the words to give power to my dreams
And to take the power away from my fears
I wrote down every cruel thing ever said to me
To erase their effect on me
I wrote down everything I am
And everything I want to be
Every place I’ve travelled
Every space in between
Those pages carry the spirit of who I am
And who I’m going to be
No one could ever listen this intently.
by Anshudha Garimella
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