• poetryinthoughts 114w

    I've never picked up a pen
    Simply for the grasp of it
    Between my thumb and index
    I would hold it loosely,
    Letting it glide neatly over the paper
    As my emotions will spill onto the papers
    In ways that my eyes couldn't,
    I would write my pain into verses
    Make my love become alive,
    Let the pen dance gallantly
    Amongst the pages
    I could never write
    Merely for the sake of it
    I did it only because
    In a time of deep despair,
    It was the only thing
    That kept me alive.