How I Write

My heart beats a rhythm.

It’s pattern is a rhyme.

Thymus,

opens it’s energy line

to fuel my drive ’cause

it has to come out.

Through my head.

Through my heart.

Attached — neither can be apart.

My body speaks

no sound

but the pound of my hands

hit the rhythmic words.

Language not heard.

Read.

Silently said.

Thought

brought in your world.

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