This pen is my outlet
as I place it to the paper
White and folded
Energy flows, and fumbles

It’s not always easy
to crate lines, and shapes
and circles that describe,
explain, and relates

Sometimes my pen is a fork
Jammed in the tight slots
Along the wall
nothing comes out

Only a snap of sparkling light
and the sizzling of shaking
stimulating, soreness
making my heart soar

My eyes swell with tears
that are dry from the heat
inside my lungs, full
of words that wont withdraw

My pen creates pictures
of how I am, which a camera
cant sake into focus
no one reads my pictures

Noone sees my face
I hold it in for no one to see
If I’d cry they’d ask
So I write

One day the most important
Thing to write will come out
as for now I get snapping, soaring, soreness
Until my dam is too full to not let loose