My pen only bleeds what I see in real life..
As I plant and plow
the nucleus of uniqueness into each bit of prose
in order to make
it satiate the needs of my convictions
In addition to
enabling others to heed my recognition as
they read in
wonderment and suspicion about which alter ego I choose to portray
Day to day I make
an attempt of not trying to attempt to please others with my passion, emotion
and dismay.
But trying to be myself but conceal aspects of myself that allows
others to be themselves
Not in efforts to teach but so others can absorb the blood oozing
from my pen like a leech
You see, this pen retains all the feelings that I possess...
The spilling of
the ink symbolizing my distress and
The evenflow of my
thoughts,
even flows even
through the mental bloodclots
becoming more
strengthened with every I dotted and t crossed.
As each idea that
is tossed in my head eventually blemishes the tablet as I scribe
as if I am in a
trance...
As my pen bleeds, it leaves figurative stains that become so
embedded that
No matter how many times I attempt to wash it out,
it will forever exist
In the midst of trying to clean up my life of the dust settling
within the mist
Each stain symbolizing each aspect of life that makes me who I am
today
All vividly created within my literal and metaphoric tablets that
has both undergone a metrical composition of a blood transfusion to prevent a
comatose,
Which has become so versified that all blood types seem to be a
match
but I cease to allow more to flow to prevent an overdose
So as my pen
bleeds I constantly need a mental IV in order to remain balanced
as I continue to
quench these paean thoughts.
Aspirations start
to become an actuality as life imitates art
Even if only for a moment as I place myself into the mindset of
what minds desires or hope that would transpire as to inspire what is next
And as my pen
continues to bleed,
only my pen can
dissect the enigma that is my thoughts as to eloquently bisect the intertwining
of my minds wants and needs so I never know what to expect.
Poetry is....ME....and
my pen…is my lifeline
As my pen bleeds...what I see...in life
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