There are days
  when I write my poetry in pencil,
  just in case.  

      But when I write about you,
      I use my favorite pen,

             You're the poem
             I'll never erase...

Exam room.
Air as still as dead,
Then I hear it:
Pencil.
R o l l i n g off the edg
e -
But the person catches it just in time.

I sigh in relief.

Nothing dries faster,
then black ink filled
with regretful words

As I sit writing, my pencil sometimes lifts off the page.
Sometimes I think too much when writing.
When sentences rush to your head, all wanting to be written
When thoughts wage war in your mind, all wanting to be heard
It’s hard to accommodate for all
Words that desire to be tattooed on a page
And to be read by another’s lips
But none know the difficulty of pausing, having your pencil lift off the page because of a lack for words.

Write it down
10 times then
Erase it again
My mind is
Racing again
Emotions
raging again

My eraser is gone
Before I even
sharpen the pencil
another line I delete
And I sigh in defeat
I hate what I write
I can't stick to beat
I swear that I can
Rhyme mean
If only I could pick a
Rhyme sceme

Silver ink snaking, slithering, sparkling like
drops of liquid starshine, night-sky blood
against such a blank and frightening ocean!
A map with no places, latitude no longitude,
stacked on one another like skin, punctured flesh
throbbing under aching fingers, scratching, scratching --
Wood on paper, etching the past in words,
the same naked quill I used to slit my soul
and slice open a hurting heart, once beating now bleeding
black and crimson pools of little light letters:
a lonely puddle, a mirror-pond, dabs of grey
in that white sea,
ivory sea,
silent sea,
hidden sea.

I tried to write
So I picked up a pencil
But put nothing down
For it was missing a point