Comfort in the Broken

The pen was my
sword,
that fought through my scariest
thoughts.

Pages were my
blankets,
when the world became too
cold.

Fictitious characters were my
friends,
when real people seemed
artificial.

My messy, loopy
handwriting
made more sense than straight and narrow
paths.

Stories of broken down
underdogs
had a beautiful way of making me feel
whole.

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