the so-called-poet.

She sat down,her lap rocking the book,
The pencil smiled, said 'i've seen this look',
'but,whats cooking in your head,
That the world has not yet read?'
She took the pencil,stared at it,
As if to force the wooden stick to spit,
The sharp thoughts that are tearing down her inside,
The bitter truths she has to confide
Words escaped her,incapable of bearing the sin,
Of giving voice to her thoughts within.
she saw the letters leaving her,all of the alphabet,
The only beings in the world,she considered her pet.
She fondly remembered the times when they played around,
The joy of finding and of being found.
And pearls of tears dropped from her oyster eyes,
To finally realize the pain of saying good-byes.
'i'd never again ignore you,ever.i promise',
Shouted her hair,nail amd every orifice.
And the pencil stood up,from its reclining chair,
And started writing with all its flair.
Yet again. :) The so-called-poet.