Back off, magic pen,
the memory is mine, once I settled all accounts,
my worth
is not them knowing,
more than I survived, I did
not by being one of the few, but I survive
by being the only real me,
who stood in that position, calm eustasy,
in a box of thoughts tested time and again, knowing
and with a little umph, oomph, try,
once more,
effort, per haps a made up sweaty struggle,
to catch this magic fish who gave me this
wish
to have endless ink and informative material,
gestating as solemn promises to tell
as told,
speak when spoken to, pray you hear in time,
waiting is, but so is ever,
whose wish
haps first is whose may is now. In a word.