My fingers pressing on the keys,
is like music flowing from inside of me,
through, passing itself on. Onto the window where all can be seen.
Where you, I, them, her, and All can see. Where all can read me,
can see into my mind.
My lovely power of expressing how I feel, poetically, to express all the
mumbled words, jumbles thoughts, and muffled, choked down unspoken words lie dormant,
until these hands, these fingers awaken them.
Onto these keys I pour, but onto my pen and paper I fall, where my best and most beautiful, saddest, scariest thoughts and feelings lie. Waiting to be seen by the world, or hiding for centuries to come only to be found and admired.
Yet to be discovered are all those feelings unfelt and thoughts unfounded.