Why I'm A Writer

It sucks that I'm a writer,

I need to write, 

But, sometimes...

Pen and paper are not at home in my hands.

So many thoughts swirl around in my head.

Yet...

They all fall apart like grains of sand.

I want to write about something other than the hole in my soul,

But...

All I can think about is what was stolen.

At the same time,

What I write seems fine.

It hits those whose hearts have died

And cried,

Those whose minds refuse to be fine,

As well as those who will never be in one piece.