my pen writes ..my thoughts
turned on... not off
given away.. not bought
i never lived easy.. but fought
for a way
to express myself
inspiration from life itself
didnt need anything else
forseen warnings of things unseen
the sun is out
but yet the world is storming
my womb was twisted with
words that i birthed
to the earth
not knowing their worth
but "kept the ink flowing freely"
like a menstrual i bled
rhymes kept coming to my head
expressions smelled like lavender
i never thought i would abandon her
but i did
the poem was my kid
father inspiration left
and stopped the creativity
the burning of my eggs
left scars of silence inside of me
awoke from the coma of quietness
and screamed my thoughts
too loud to listen
stood in a compromising position
had to repent like i was in sin
didnt realize the damage i did
to the world by hushing
and flushing my words like
feces
summoning the usage
of my pen