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.