A Voice and a Pen
Used say I talked too little,
Had no voice to be heard.
Maybe now I talk too much,
Guess I can never get it right.
Through all my biggest struggles,
Whether I talk too little,
Or if I talk too much,
My pen and pad never change.
Words form in the centrifuge of my mind.
Bleeding out my eyes in a dark stream.
It runs down my face, past my broken heart.
Flowing through like a waterfall.
It trickles to my fingertips.
Into the pen that writes my pain,
Drowning the paper in my fear.
A catalyst for my worst thoughts.
Copyright © Logan Lester | Year Posted 2020
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