It was a blood night I tell you, I named every bullet according to their names

It was a bloody cold night I tell you, I picked my opponents carefully, lined em up in the dark rain, named every bullet according to their cause. They gave me the power I needed.

Writing to me didn't come naturally, it was a skill I developed soon as I came to Canada, in order to cope with what was happening at home. I felt like a prisoner, a prisoner to everything around me. I couldn't date, love, speak or even express myself freely for who I really was.

So the pen became my weapon of choice. 

I picked my opponents carefully and crafted the magic bullet, each with their names on it - one for pain, one for loss, one for freedom and the other for just in case if there was ever anymore bullsh!t to handle after the aftermath.

It was a bloody night I tell you, 

the lights and everything, the pen ready to fire at my drift on the paper, stars leaving galaxies into the universe as I wrote my first way to the moon, cause the son was too far for me to be saved. 

The pen was my saviour, my father, my son, and most of all the Holy Spirit. 

It helped the lonely nights feel less lonely, all the loneliness I used to feel became my greatest strength - solitude.

With my pen aimed for the stars, I landed on the moon. It was colder than I thought, I could see my own words as they left my lips, my breath - an image I wasn't too proud of…

I needed toothpaste from the times I would cuss and say nasty things to people that tried to help me. 

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Bare with me as I draw this metaphor out to you.

The writing became my second nature; like breathing - it was a breeze, to finally see the sunshine after nights of diging trenches on roads I thought paved a route to nowhere. 

Now I do it in my sleep as I write symphony rhymes and sweep the love of my life off her feet, cause she loves to get high while getting lifted - a goddess she is….

When the pen fails to talk, it's my lips that write on your lips; verses like a chorus, you make me sing in the cold, moaning till morning.

Panting and gasping, you the home I've been looking for, 

I must've crashed my titanic into your iceberg - oh my Kryptonite…

In the desert full of sharks I can't swim with camels on my back, I rather make my own mountain to climb In the deep dark sea, because that's how twisted and bright my love for you is. 

When it's down, you are up, where it's up, you are down to lay with me,

like lays, I never open a can without checking the label but you made me skip all that. 

Ran through the stop signs just to get to you.

I wasn't thirsty but your water is the fountain of my youth. 

I wasn't thirsty, but you brought me the truth.

Let me drink and never thirst again cause your well too deep, when it's 3 am and I'm barely beneath the surface as I uncover your covers.

We used to love under cover now we make love under covers. 

Our secret no longer a secret that we a secret. 

Let my lips tell you goodnight while my pen writes on your heels as I sweep you off your feet - you been running on my mind too gawd damn long! 

Funny how you catch me when I'm falling. I wanted to fall in love with you, you watered me from the beginning, 

now untill forever…and ever…let me climb over your pinnacles and tell you how I feel about this new found love of mine; 

you the fountain of youth - my Queen.

Give a prisoner a pen and paper, and he will write his way out of a sentence, no depreciating commas or periods where he'd have to stop and seduce you with a tangent - he's straight to the point like a bullzeye.

His trajectory is that of a laser, sharp and focused as he stabs his way through the walls you've built to destroy his spirit colliding the walls that confide with him.

That my friend is the power of words.

Today, I am grateful to be a writer here on medium, I love the community and the welcoming everyone has towards each other. 

This is what writing does to you, when you use it as a weapon for good, a key to bring you freedom, a gun to end the pain, a knife to cut your losses. 

All the ups and downs have been blessings in disguise, to my pain, "Thank you for making me a better man - pain"