the path of my pen

My thoughts bleed onto the page with my emotion,

as if the pen would heal my soul.

I write anxiously, furiously looking for answers.

When I finally bring the pen up for air,

words, thoughts are scatterred everywhere.

Is there a point, a message?

sometimes, not always.

A stream of consciousness can lead to a revelation,

or to nothing at all.

I read through the dribble on the paper.

Unhappy in its indecisiveness, I tear it up.

Pieces fly everywhere and for a moment I question whether to try again.

But as my heart beats faster, my eyes start to tear, my lips quiver,

I realize I need something, anything to heal my pain.

So I pick up the pen once again, I take a deep breath,

and let the bleeding begin.

With every stroke I look for a band-aid,

some sign that the medicine is working.

Sometimes, it’s like a migraine that just won’t go away.

Other days, the pen is truly the victor of my battles.

Which day will today be remains to be seen.

I close my eyes, pray for a moment; for peace, for solitude, for guidance.

Pen do not fail me now,

and so I bleed again……


2 thoughts on “the path of my pen

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