I use this pen as my syringe
To inject words into my veins.
They flow through me,
Touching head and heart.
They cure the disease called loneliness,
Or at least abate it.
What spills onto the page are but the oozing
Remnants of what my soul could not contain.
On these pages, I plaster my life,
my style, my knowns,
And my unknown unknowns.
I give to these lines
what my consciousness could not handle.
Through this pen, I have a voice to
Speak my truths.
Through this pen, I give language to that
Which can only scream within me.
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