writing (part 4)

Writing. All writers are different I do it in secrecy I do it for me I do it to to reflect I do it to understand When I pick up a pen It's because I don't know what I think Till I read back my ink The words are sloppy and jagged But i have ran my brain ragged Trying to figure out how I feel But now it's on paper and it feels Far too real, to real to grasp And suddenly I hope This poem will be my last.