I used to write poetry in pencil; scared of judgment, full of fear
Wanted to be liked, loved, went back to be kind
but at one point, in a fit of rage a wrote on a page
All capitals, slanted- ripped the paper:
¨ These Words Are MINE, They Aren't Your Words. ¨
And I wrote this in thick, pitch black ink
I broke my lucky pencil, into 4, now trash
I keep a pen in my pocket, black with no shame
If i mess up I don't rip out the page, don't fear their stares
Because they are MY words, and honestly?
I DON'T CARE
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
I used to write poetry in pencil; scared of judgment, full of fear
Wanted to be liked, loved, went back to be kind
but at one point, in a fit of rage a wrote on a page
All capitals, slanted- ripped the paper:
¨ These Words Are MINE, They Aren't Your Words. ¨
And I wrote this in thick, pitch black ink
I broke my lucky pencil, into 4, now trash
I keep a pen in my pocket, black with no shame
If i mess up I don't rip out the page, don't fear their stares
Because they are MY words, and honestly?
I DON'T CARE
I wrote this when I found my pride in writing, saw it in an old notebook and pasted it here, 2yrs later.