“The creative adult is the child who survived.” —Le Guin
It’s difficult to explain to those
who don’t understand.
The throughline of childhood
breaks off somewhere as
the decades continue on.
I hold tight to my pen
to make sense of
those early years.
How they defined
the woman
I am today.
Healing my inner child
one day at a time.
Poetry helped me
find my voice,
but what happens
when I have
nothing to say?
Kelly Severseike 
“when you have nothing to say, silence is sometimes the loudest voice,” thought of this with your last 6 words. Loved this write, well done.
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