i write because paper
always listens

Time after time, her paper wings were torn.
Rustling, cruelly clipped by circumstance
She moved and so did they
broken and crumpled, stunted by misfortune.
But hope was not lost, for she knew
Paper could be smoothed
It could be taped, it could be
Reshaped.
Against the dying breeze she beat her creased papers
Rising up
creating a Storm behind her, with
the power of her need to fly
Time after time, her paper wings were torn
And yet, she flew on

It comes naturally
to write down my thoughts
Even in the worst situations,
When my mind is in knots

No one to share with
Except the pencil and paper
My notebooks and notepads
Stacked as high as a skyscraper

Writers are the loneliest of people
Or so, I’ve been told
I believe the lonelier one is,
the more pens one holds

So simple
Black
     White
Orange
     Green
On and on the colors go
Where they stop nobody knows
Only one can be mine
But
     Which
              One
Rectangle paper
you're lifeless
close to worthless
once you're mine
      your priceless
to me you are important
all I need is you
sweet
lifeless
stupid
paper

By Gina Gordy

Holding a pen in hand, preparing pitch-black ink for a blank paper,
I begin with gentle, delicate movements, letting it slide over it.
One line follows another, one without any bother, any care to it.
A regular starshaped polygon, surrounded by a simple circle has been made, one which holds meaning to it, hidden underneath ink.
Some might gaze at it as a sign of a greater evil, heresy or worse,
Others might watch it in awe, a sign of protection a symbol of hope.
A maze with two ends has been made, each with its own belief.
However, my tired eyes, which have been worn, gaze at it and see beauty, the connection of each line contains grace, closed by the circle.
Thus a smile has been cast on my face, as I look at it another time,
Noticing how the black ink has taken the papers purity my cheering sight perishes, saddens in an instant, what I had drawn had become unrecognizable, as the paper spread the ink and distorted this image.
The broken in the light, moist and now fragile, drops through, in wonderous, ominous distraction, leaving a great hole in the middle.
Unable to be ever repaired the paper finds its trail into the trash,
A puddle left of what it was, mixed with the pitch black, had to be cleaned up, so that another attempt could be made, another try.
So I pick up my pen once again and connect the lines with a smile.

~ Umi

I wrote an ocean onto that paper
Ink stirred with salt
It was spilling out of me

I was overflowing with thoughts
I wrote an ocean onto that paper
Of anything and everything

That clouded my eyes
Till nothing harmful was present
I wrote an ocean onto that paper

My hand, it grasps,
a withered pen,
dry and old,
yet perfect all the same

My pen, it dances,
across the milky paper,
smooth and neat,
yet messy all the same

My paper, it shouts,
words, phrases, stories,
depressing and gloomy,
yet cheerful all the same

A poet hidden in a singer,
A singer hidden in a poet,
Under the grey skies,
On a land of snow,
Her lamp almost burned,
She wrote,
She was a poet,
But she sang too,
She sang her melancholic pieces of poetry, carved on wood,
She sang lullabies with her words, on torn ***** papers,
On a broken seat, with a dusty piano,
She bagan to play with the waves of notes, pushing her tired fingers, against the keys.
Afraid she was because she thought she was imperfect,
But some imperfections are beautiful and wonderful, she did not know that.
Her pain gave her words birth,
Her fears raised her words,
Her regrets made her sing,
Her beautifully written  poetry,
Not too strong, and not to powerful,
With a little voice, with a little hope,
A girl who was afraid to speak,
The one who was afriad of herself,
Invaded the universe.
With her unheard voice,
With those unspoken words.
An unexplained series began,
When her shaky voice sang her old lost lullabies,
And her soul lifted her voice up,
Her body still shaking.
But not quitting,
She wrote and wrote and sang and sang.
On sunsets, on oceans, on skies , on rain,
She wrote her heart out by singing with her soul.