#but not as an escape

When I was younger, I would use words as a weapon. The singsong-y lines of words I would put down on paper were a ballad to achieve some sort of peace. My words would get back at everything I felt was threatening me or hurting me. They were my escape. And maybe, just maybe, it was because words were the single thing protecting me. Sometimes I think that’s why I put down the pencil for poetry and prose. Those words had some how soaked up all the toxic events from my past, and there was no way I was going to touch them ever again.