My hair is braided, I swear
Somedays I wear it like a crown
And somedays a crown of thorns
Creditors keep calling
I don’t answer
Friends reach out
Reluctantly I engage
Engagement like a minimum-security prison
Hush, the weak have arisen
That’s some days
I long for, crave for
Nothing
Answers
Fulfillment
Peace
Emptiness
Apple pie?
French Fries
With loads of ketchup
Presence
Yes, That’s it
The present-perfect moment
Wrapped in gift gold
A pen that doesn’t skip
Except down the street
A pen that writes what it wants
Not what it’s told
Without regards to you
A totally naked pen
Unselfconsciously naked pen
A pen without permission
A pen without presumption
A pen without proper purpose
A pen without a penchant for perfection
(excuse the alliteration)
Without politeness or uptightness
A pen that flip-flops
A pen that hides under the covers when you’re around
A pen that doesn’t stop
Even after it runs out of ink
Pink Ink
Think ink
Until I get tired of pink think ink
A pen that doesn’t get bored so easily
Like you
Maybe I do  
And maybe I don’t
Maybe we’re two pens in a pod.
Oh, fickle pen
That’s so like you
Yup’ the pen made me do it
I’m a slave to the pen
What’s up with you?