.
                                 pencil
                            pencil pencil
                         pencil pencil pen
                          cil pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                    pencil               pencil
               pencil pencil     pencil pencil
           pencil pencil pencil pencil pencil
              pencil pencil      pencil pencil
                  pencil                    pencil

No one cared until I started holding a pencil
until I started writing
let's call them poems

Did writing make people actually care about me?
Or did it just make them curious enough to ask about me?

Do they like my writing?
Or do they like how I can describe things in ways they can't?

Has this pencil brought me closer to people?
Has it made them finally see me?

Questions start to occur
every time I hold this pencil of mine

questions question question
so many questions
and not enough answers

If you ask me to speak my feelings
I will not be able to utter a word
I will not be able to form a comprehensive sentence
However
Give me a pencil
and I will express... gladly
Whether through writing or drawing

I suppose I owe a lot to my pencil
You might see it as a wood that leaves mark on papers
but to me
It's a whole world,
a world that I'm eager to explore

Thank you pencil
Thank you for being there for me
when my tongue isn't
Thank you for speaking up for me
Thank you for being my voice