Even now my pen makes trails

That my feet could never walk

And my ink forms words

That my lips could never talk

I’m living outside this skin

But in-touch with my soul

Because I’m bearing it all to you

Promise to be gentle

I write this way to keep my sanity

In order to keep perspective

I must reject vanity

And bridge what seems like untouchable galaxies

Of what I am, would like to be, and who you know is really me

Endless thoughts of days gone by

And times yet to come

Afraid of what’s delivered to me

Only the pen and paper can handle

What’s about to be done

I can’t imagine life without blue lines and white spaces

I would feel caged in

Unable to make it

Turning in on myself

Like a turtle in its shell

Lord only knows my brain would surely swell

My heart would grow big

Too much for my ribs

Overworked by the many things unwritten

So to maintain my well-being

I live outside myself

I write it all down

Move it off the shelf

Let it drip drop in a thousand syllables

Conscious of the fact that I’m being vulnerable

But enjoying the reality that once released

I’m just more comfortable.

Poetry