Not for fame
Bitches
or riches
Expression of my true self
want to touch those who can relate
PEN always seemed so heavy
PAINT brush strokes always run outside the lines of my message
MUSIC note are instruments on my tone deaf ears
Math always seemed so final
rather not show my work, exposes my mistakes
Philosophical theories have my mind wandering and forgetting to come back
Been looking for a window to my soul for a 1/3 of a century
brown leather bound journal with promises of
secrecy and freedom
nothing to loose
hoping my own judgment ย isnโt too mean
Pen is lighter, flows freely now
Words are the window
letting the sun bath my thoughts like never before
open my heart and my hand writes
raw, honest, deep word
This is sharing of me
feeling a connection to this paper
this moment
this certain scent or
suddenly silent sound
How did my soul survive with out the pen that now freely moves
i write these words today to say thank you to the
LOVE
the HURT
THE Beating heart
my vulnerabilities and my insecurities and life
my pen is introspective, assertive and deep
it knows the me I have buried so deep
Find the art of your soul โฆ
sing , paint , cook, or pay
That will be known as the dayโฆ..
and you will never be the same again
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