Thursday, June 17, 2010

ode to the notebook

So the pen is mightier than the sword my Lord
Hov said , those lines hit me hard, sung the sweetest chord
Describing my love affair with a composition books, well actually books
I could write for hours despite my peers dirty looks
What good is that ? Who writes for fun anymore they would giggle and say
I'd just jot another poem or story, these personal works of art would free me one day
Of the invisible but destructive barricades and far-fetched hopes of a child confused
I cried in my notebook with tears of blue and black ink, I don't know who said band-aids heal the bruised
I'm writing so I'm living, that's why its permanent on my right arm
Same arm that reads strength holds my ink-filled sword, protects me from all harm
Every so often I open up one of the journals and let its words teleport me to the past
The passages hold so many stories, life-changing moments, emotions together like a makeshift cast
But instead of everyone signing it with corny jokes and a get well soon
I'm the only author, writing myself messages to get well soon
Some nights I gave up though, threw entries in the garbage - screaming fcuk em
Just to wake up rummaging through the trash, screaming I need em
I've come to realize this isn't a hobby or antidrug
Its how I connect with others, how I heal, no point in sweeping life under a rug
I let the pen take control, writing whatever is on or comes to mind
The day they bury, it aint gon be money that they find
A composition book - probably a damn collection
And the reader will be able to tell you all about me - the good, bad, and the ugly
For these books hold my life's reflection

1 comment:

  1. & this...spoke for me and many others. One day the world will see your talent. You have such a way with words. You'll be sitting on top of the world as if you were on stilts.