Pen

This is just something I've been attempting to write all week. It needs to be edited, massively. But I'm posting it in it's entirety because it took me so long to get it on the page.

Pen, you were never meant to limit

what I want to say. Once upon a time

you were used to speak without restraint,

the voice I never had the strength to release,

Released me to deny these fairytale stories

about a prince so charming that he cannot

see that I have already slain the dragon.

Pen, you used to be my liberty

from loneliness. But somehow I have

become alone with you in my hand

and I cannot seem to write out my

own happily ever after that is nothing

like all the others. Somehow I am stuck

in this socialized cycle of wanting this cliché

image of dreams coming true.

Pen, assist me in this endeavor to be honest,

not in the way I have been in the past. Reality

is relative and right now it is related to the fact

that I cannot seem to look away from the eye

contact this not so prince charming and I have made.

I used to pretend to be heartless

and it made me

honest about every other’s fault.

Pen, teach me that to be authentic

means putting you down to rest

and the rest is said with vocality not with

these scribbles of the truth of my core. But I am most

me with you in hand, so I’ll put you in my pocket

just in case I need the extra strength when I speak.