Take this pen and write the words
Slow as I watch them shape into meaning
Sad and sullen I write my tragedies
I write my pain and my happy
I write the dark and the light
I write the flight and my fights
But I can't seem to write how I feel
I can't even speak the words
It seems as though I'm writing a novel
To a strangers life
As though I don't even know who I am
Too bad I can't write my way back home
To that place inside of me
To bad I can't write my sight
So my blind eyes can see
To bad I can't write the pieces of me back together
To bad that my life seems like a work of fiction