Write My Way Out!

When the enemy attacks it is like a strong unrelenting wave of heat that bubbles up from the bottom of my feet and spills out of my hands.  The same hands I use to write the poems, the sonnets, the words of encouragement, the shouts of praise, the tunes of observation.
An attack so low down and dirty that it practically takes my breath away and makes me feel closed in on all sides by a wall too thick to penetrate.  Stuck can't move, can't leave, can't even run.
It is when the fire burns within that calls me to my writing place.  The place where the words flow freely and I can sit contemplating the real rawness of it all.  That center of me, my birthing place.
This is where I write my way out. 
I write my way out. 
I write my way out. 
It is then I know I am doing that thing that pleases God most. This is where he created me to be.