The Art of Writing...

The Art of Writing



Humanity's engraved history,
on the tips of our fingers,
on the tip of the mind

It's a beautiful art, isn't it?
How someone's soul,
Is expressed with a language
The art of writing

Of course, I do not
I do not limit
Limit to words...

Body language is the writing of the body
Music is the writing to decorate time
Facial Expression is the art of writing and interpreting...from the crust of a soul
Speech writes the base of language

Writing is not what you just think it is
It. Is. Pure. Art.


Now reading back on this poem, I have found my reason to write.


This thing called Writing. It's woven into our nature. As stated above, I consider things such as body language, facial expression, and music as "writing". 


 It's our own mind that limits us. Writing is not limited to words. After all, it is a way to express. Our ability to express is already woven in us from birth (for instance, when we cry, we express from the wails written, by our voice, in the air)...


And maybe I am mistaken...


When you kick when you were in your mother's womb, you may definitely express and inform something hehe...


 So really, it's my nature...our nature...to write.


Don't let yourself be the one who limits your potential! - SachikoMochiko :)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another quick poem...

Based on Jonathan Chiu's post: "5 Reasons you should write"

See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/youngteenwriterz/1982150/#comments


This to ya so called friends
Perched at tha end of ya bed
Ready with the needle and thread
Soon as your eyes shut, your head genst the pillow
They laugh while they sew
And they cut of ya voice
And you used to be quiet outta choice
Now you don't speak.
Not a peep
Clutching your throat
But only mumbles come out
Skip forward two years
Two gallons of tears
And nightmares and fears
Skip past all the secrets she hear
We here
Couple of weeks ago I saw a girl with no voice
Dint seem that she had a choice
Surrounded by loud noise
Uncaring girls and boys
I pull her away off to the side
And I look in her eyes
See her soul, I'm surprised
She used to be silent
Just secondary character
She used to be a stagehand
But they made her stronger
Voiceless she wants to storm the stage
She filled with rage
She just needs a way to convey her feelings, her contempt for each silent day.
I pull out a pen and a pad, undamn all those feelings she had.
She writes so fast her pens a blur
So fast friction ignites the paper
And I read burned in words
Like some voodoo curse
they will hear my verse

She's happy for a time
Writing out a book full of lines
Listing grievances, joys and her supposed crimes
But its never enough
She built this home out of her imagination
But she's tired, tired of her still silent indignation
She's looking for a forum to spread this information
To plant a seed of her experience to grow across this nation
She decides to have an operation to remove these binding threads
That were unreasonable forced while she slept in her bed
4 hours later they wake her
Open her mouth and hear her voice shout, when she speaks its so loud.
She stands on this stage, spitting bars venting her rage, unleashing a tempest
Her voice calls down storms and with her new voice she feels reborn
So she picks up the microphone, and she forms
Powerful words, which she casts out, hoping that they will take root and last.
And they so busy listening, they never hear me laugh, they so focused on her words they never notice my past, they are watching her so they never see my lips curving, they never see cross hatched scars.
Couple of weeks ago I saw a girl with no voice
Dint seem like she had a choice
She couldn't event tell me her name
Now she spits flames,she aint looking for fame
She just never wants to be silent again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Giving a voice to the voiceless