Confined in concrete and silence;
The serrated edges; scarring.
With blank spaces, impatient for thoughts
And handholds with which I can peek.
As I push myself higher,
My hands catch hold of a fence.
When I sit over the edge,
The fence digging into my legs,
My palms scratched and ******,
I decide; a mere jump cannot take
From me the pen I have longed to hold;
And so the inkless pages begin bleeding ink.
I haven't been able to write. I've been forcing words out, but I think I did it with this one.
Just had to jump over a wall. Piece of cake.