The Pen



It’s the pen that makes me strong,
makes me bold,
and sings those lush and intricate verses into the air…
not caring if they seed storm clouds or lightning.
It’s the pen that guides my feet,
thin and faltering stepping lightly so I don’t hurt anyones 
carpet and can pass unseen and unblipped on their radar.
It’s the pen I say,
sweeping both blame and praise away from me while 
holding the dust pan awkwardly,
some crumbs always slip through,
 but I whistle them away 
and keep carrying the tune
no matter how poorly.
The tune carries the brave face and the pen carries us both,
and I just hope no one needs to set me down,
or drop me,
any time soon.
It’s the pen I say.
I blame the pen.

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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1 Response to The Pen

  1. Pingback: Writing Links…4/30/18 – Where Genres Collide

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