MY PEN

Dear poetry

As I write to you with this black ball point pen.

Expressing the deepest of emotions that I hold within.

While making you my only true expressive friend.

I sometimes hate you.

Because writing to you or with you is like a double ended mirror that only we can see through.

While expressing the emotions that I have to share for a public view.

I despise the way that you understand me.

Consistently staying silent as I speak my inner peace.

Never judgemental when expressing my mentality.

But you never talk to me.

You're like the perfect therapist with no expressive understanding.

No talk back,

no opinionated moments,

just you and me.

As you pump up my courage to express the inner portions of my living testimonies.

Sometimes it's embarrassing to see how quickly I run to you.

See,

I get mad that the majority of the human population can't understand the way that I think.

But you know what I'm going through.

When I need a listening ear you're the one I'm able to talk through.

But when I need a clear answer you show me that my answers are always told within me without making any sudden moves.

Until I touch you.

No words spoken,

just my favorite pen pal.

You help write my words but not around when they are in the moment to be revealed out loud.

It's so funny because we never had a proper greeting but yet you're my best friend now.

Still silent as I let my dear emotions pour out.

But you don't cry,

you don't fuss,

you don't have any problems to share amongst me.

Just written out words to help express what you're understanding from me.

But then I feel like you're that accidental gas pump because everyone has had the chance to spill your ink.

Let me get back on subject because now I feel like I'm rambling

Many have been able to write with you and enjoy the moments of touching your straight cold body with warm hands to heat you up.

As if you are a knob so everybody has had the chance to turn you all the way up

You're almost like that sex anyone can practically pay for in exchange for their words.

But it's literally a one time payment for the foreverness until your ink dries out what's supposed to be heard.

But a better way of talking without having an argument spilling out.

You're like the perfect marijuana everyone already knows about.

Which is another reason I hate you but I love you forever now.

You allow me to touch you,

take you apart,

see through you,

as well as use you for art.

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But that's not even the best part.

Spilling your ink is like you taking a needle and popping the bubble that leaks out the deeply thought out moments.

For everyone else to judge with your silently told notions.

You know how to make me mad especially when you give off that stubborn dry attitude.

Completely cold hearted as no ink is sliding down your see through tube.

Did I mention that you're sometimes rude.

When not even my thoughts can be written down or had.

So I have to throw you away and move on to the next pen pale.

This is beginning to feel sad.

Because I began to like this pen.

You see, I think it's interesting because it has a feather on the end.

It calls itself a calligraphy.

I did some research and it goes all the way into the past histories.

Its grooves and designs always seem to be intriguing.

Even if it's an older version of the same pen I'm used to using.

The only difference is I have to take care of it.

I have to dip it every 5 minutes of writing just to explain my dialog before I forget it.

The ink will become a mess if I'm not properly holding it

I'm starting to think this pen needs more attention than me.

You know how I have to lean it to the side while the back end is still facing me

The ink run short can't get a full message out without a repeated routine

Think

dip

write

seems to be the common thing.

But you just had to run out of ink on me too.

I notice I only appreciated you for your outer appearance which was something I just should not do.

Without realizing when operating you all of the other things I will be going through.

It's almost like I have to give more in order to talk with you.

Draining the containers of ink until I'm done with you.

Honestly I might throw you away and go back to what I'm used to.

But then again writing this out I know it's not a productive move.

So the only way to fix this If I get multiples of the better versions of you.

This is our friendship so I know if I have more than one I can never lose

It's not like you're gonna complain to me unless the attention is too hot and you begin to ooze.

On my hands whether I'm reaching in my pocket or even my purse too.

But that's why I have multiple pens that replaces you.

So I write to you with this black ball point pen.

Expressing the deepest of emotions that I hold within.

While making you another collection to my only true expressive friends.

While showing how much I hate but love

my pen.

Poem