I confess my sins to the pages of my notebook.
The pen guiding my thoughts
Like a second verse or musical hook.
Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.
Taking risks and trying new things.
Pages upon pages.
The fluidity of the wet ink rages.
Nights spent burning stray thoughts.
Like paper mache’ stretched tight across my skin,
The ballpoint pen acting like my heart.
Through soulless eyes.
Full of the pages with pale lines.
I write each and every line.
Painting my words using expression from my mind.
Metaphors are my distant colors.
Like a gentle brush
Each and every rhyme is my medium.
What’s in my head is not what it seems to be
Until it is placed on these pages with my own pen.