On Why I write: The Road to recovery



Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order’s tall

Skinny Love by Birdy

On Why I write…

When I was five years old.

I was RAPED.

and because of that…

The world started to make no sense.

It wasn’t because I was stupid.

No– it wasn’t anything like that.

Nothing made sense because everything about me was numb.


Strange I wasn’t the type who suffered visibly.

My own mind made it possible for me to live and survive the agony and pain.

Although the anxiety and strangeness was there. I couldn’t point out the reasons to explain my emotions. So, I picked up a pen and began to sketch my heart away.

I drew my favorite Japanese anime characters of young women who stood strong in the name of love, justice and life. Wrote in scribbled poems, answered essays and wished to grow up faster to never be fooled again by those around me.

however, even so– even my words failed me. Back then, sketching was all I had.

I couldn’t express anything decent. I struggled even though I smiled about life, and did my best and think positive about everything.

It was dark and I never knew how it felt to be real. Life itself was like a bizarre joke and the people around me were all clowns.

Until… last year happened.

The people I trusted and Loved for the three years of my life left and abandoned me just when I thought I was finally making sense of the normality that people around me kept insisting to live.

In my mind, I truly wished it was that simple.

Then finally– as I traveled to heal. I found myself looking in front of the mirror, staring at a familiar face.

I began to draw again.

I began to write once more.

painfully… I saw what happened to me. I broke down, but I never cried. In my heart, I knew that soon, although not immediately. These flashes of memories, slowly playing in repeat inside my head.

I began to see it clearer each time I closed my eyes.

I began to understand my past.

I wrote to get better and finding my heart once again.









Published by Magsi Rover

Magsi Rover is the odd-ball who aspires to write, sketch and travel the world.

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