They took my words from me,

The only thing I thought they couldn’t.

 

 

 

But did they?

 

My mouth formed the shape of words,

And my vocal cords whispered the vowels.

 

My brain spun new poetry,

And my fingers attached themselves to a pen.

 

Did they?

 

I think not,

Because you can never separate,

A writer from her words.

 

Grief can harden them,

And anger can make them red hot,

But you never can take a writer’s words,

 

And so you can never take away mine,

Because I am a writer,

Even if you never saw it.