My Pen doesn't Flutter

Another punch to the gut

That’s how it feels

When my words hit the page

 

My pen doesn’t flutter

Like a butterfly

My pen is a sword

A weapon that wields anger

Melded with sadness

And rage

 

These letters

Made up of vowels wrapped

Around lazy consonants

They paint a picture

Of torment and loss

 

My ink digs in deep

Finding places in me

That I thought were long gone

But somehow it finds

The saddest of songs

 

The nib scratches the page

While opening my scars

And so I bleed out

The words I once dared not whisper

Have become a crude shout

 

I will continue to write

And perhaps I will share

So that maybe one day

The pain will no longer

Be there.

 

C.K.22

 

 

◄ My heart can Lie

Serendipity. ►

Comments

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M.C. Newberry

Thu 24th Nov 2022 11:26

Voltaire would certainly agree! The pen is an extension of the
workings of the mind - to express what the voice sometimes feels
at a loss to say.

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