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She Writes Jan 2019
Such relief I felt
When I stopped holding my breath
Waiting until I was told I could speak

So free I felt
When I stopped holding my pen
Waiting until I was told what I could write

So powerful I feel
Knowing I can bring you to your knees
With only my tongue and my pen
Anna Jan 2019
They are on the tip of her tongue.
The words she wishes to say.
Internally, her mind is racing.
Her thoughts, jumbled.

How can she tell him what's on her mind without him turning away?
How can she explain that when he is around, the words stick.
That when she thinks about what to say she becomes sick.

She grabs a sheet of paper,
and a pen.

Her thoughts begin to untangle,
the storm in her mind becomes calm.
The words that were stuck like glue begin to flow onto the page.
They flow with ease, and with grace,
right onto that perfect , white, page.

Does she dare show him this page?
Does she dare open herself up?
Does she dare leave herself vulnerable?

Does she dare?
With a pen and that piece of paper in hand,
she asks herself
"Do I dare?"
When I am with people my words seem to get stuck in my mind. It is like I am paralyzed, but not with fear. it is that my thoughts are running at one-hundred miles a minute. The debate between my heart and my head becomes too much. So I revert to what I know. Writing.
Ceyhun Mahi Dec 2018
O Pen, write it all down before it leaves,
It's rude not to save what the heart receives.
Tadios Yeab Dec 2018
Had I a pen for a friend,
Who had an ink for a blood,
That bled out until the end,
To let me out of my head,
Ananya Bansiwal Dec 2018
Nothing can help me
but that beauty

I still remember it was dawn
and
all what the moment did was
recreating love
which I always needed to do myself.
annh Dec 2018
my brain vomited
onto the page
all squiggles
and misspellings
unpunctuated
heiroglyphics
a secret language
only i
could understand
not prose
not poetry
not correct
just me
my pen
wreaks havoc
on unruled
paper
i am errant
i am irritable
i am irreverent
i am making
my way
Euphie Dec 2018
Pen
If I had a pen,

On a thin sheet of paper, I would write how the way
Your collarbone curvatures.
I will write about you endlessly.

Until the palms of my hands begin to bleed,
And my entire skeleton will start to ache.
It’ll be a reminder to me that I should have
        tried harder to make you stay.

I should have known, that you preferred bitter black coffee
Rather than tea.
Thorns Dec 2018
It's a weapon
It's the truth
It's a lie
It's a reason why
You should stay alive
To write your poems
To write your stories
To write
Show us what's in your heart
So we can help
So we can write something to help
That's the pen's job
To write
To help
The pen
A pen that writes it's sorrows, will never run out of ink.-Thorns
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