Your Pen

To be kept awake, not 'cause you have to drop a cake you've been paid to bake Or 'cause of cliche heartbreak. But for ache that makes you quake. Ache that leaves you opaque to you. I'm gonna stake all I've got you  say. But this ache's just wants to have you raked with weighted pellets. The sorts with pain as casing. It's just gonna rake it all. Calm and comfort, pills and saline water. Oh this kind doesn't make you shake with hurt maybe. It's probably hidden; waist-deep in momentary comfort. Ache that leaves the mind and soul awake. Your pastime and good times do you forsake. What would usually slake thirst now stirs it. Yes it's for this ache's sake. Often having you irked over what feels like nothing, or even worse go berserk. At time's end, all of this ache doesn't really die away, does it? Like the jerk it makes us feel we are, it lurks around, clinging to the very guise we put up to cloak it. Serving as clerk to our own inner ca...

An ubiquitous error it is. Believing that to surrender is to lose. Have you tried birthing a goose? For with that same impossibility is trying to quell your emotion's flows There is One that stirs man and breeze  To Him should you surrender all with ease

Just like every other teen. Overly shy and never wanting to be seen Saddled with self-brewed weirdness; and for finishing simpleness. Hungry still for far-fetched fierceness  Upholding in genuine form Mom's taught norm. A being with growing guts for gene.

I have not a name like my owner. I am only a possession, one that is short lived in fact. I have an origin of moulds and plastic tubing. I am one that lies mute all day. One more thing I am is a channel. Yes, I was made for this very purpose after all. To convey mortal thoughts, fantasies and ideas. I bring them alive, alive to eyes that choose to see. I can be your amplifier too, as with my graceful strokes and twirls. I enhance your mind's very silent mutters. Giving them the loudness that's required  My purpose from the scratch does me in each and every moment of the way. It is like I was born to be used and abused. My blood is my voice, my fluids are the media through which I serve. In the end, I'd rather run dry than stay locked up. For, for this very reason do I exist. To be the voice of the dumb, the strength of the timid, the weapon of your bright mind.   I am your pen.