A pen, a pen, oh! I searched for a pen!
But I found none
Not one that worked at all.
I needed to write it down
Needed to write again
But how could I when no pen was in sight?
The paper lay waiting
Hoping I could find a pen, so I may write on it.
Edgar wrote of Annabel Lee
Who lived in the kingdom by the sea.
I’d also like to write poetry
About my love to thee.
But feelings are hard to put into words.
How can I make it sweet like the chirping of the birds?
What sort of rhyme must I write
To let your emotions ignite?
Still, ideas escape me
Unlike Edgar who wrote about Annabel Lee.
My paper is still empty
And I still contemplate of that poetry
One that I’ll dedicate to thee.
Old and worn
It has witnessed many writings
It is old
And it holds so many memories
When was the last ti!e you wrote a letter?
To ask anything, like if someone was feeling better.
Can you still recall the last letter you wrote?
What good is a pen without a paper?
Much like a lover and a hater
They both need each other
And in some ways must come together
What is a poet without a poem?
No reason to rhyme at all
None at all
I don’t see myself that way
And I refuse to do so
To undermine myself
To hate myself
To think that won’t be lovable unless
Or I’d only be accepted until
To kill myself slowly
Just to be a size zero
And I refuse to be pushed to do so
To think so
I hold the key
to imagination, a whirl wind of non-existent things
I move from one end of the world
and appear at the other side
I hold the key
pen and paper on hand
I open the doorway
make way for imagination!
the pen and the paper
like coffee and pie
are great when they’re together
just like you and I
when the ink turns to words
it’s such a symphony
it often over powers me
young was I when I first met you
looking at it now
I see an excellent view
I’m in love with writing
and I’m sure it feels the same
So I’ll continue this affair,
this fun little game
my pen does not know how to write.
it keeps spelling words wrongly, ugh….I meant incorrectly
and has a bad taste for grammar, (see what I mean?)
it does not write when I want to,
it just stares blankly at the paper.
“Write something, come on, write something”, I keep teling (telling) it
but no matter what I do, it won’t budge.
and when it finally wants to write,
it…blah bla blobs…writes nonsense, as what you’ve just seen
my pen is crazy, I think it’s possessed
it’s supposed to ooze with idea, yet it’s the reason why I’m having a writer’s block
I have a lot of ideas, but my pen just won’t right….hmmmm, write
I’m not sure if you can call this a poem
I’ll write better once my pen functions properly