My pen has no eraser
its end inks over my soft skin
etching errors over the places I've been
inscribing the essence of the sins I've sinned
My poems saved me
like tattoos that allow me to
explode poetry into the external
to be remade, remodeled
like a sprinkle of ink syllables
creative release in the form of an ink fit.
I'd leave it if I could, I'd want to and I would.
But simply I can't stand and that's the stance I’ll take.
And its how I get by day after day .
my poems save me.