The Weight Of This Pen

You say to separate these words from me,
And that I need to see,
That I am more than what I portray to be.
You claim that I am being dramatic,
And that I should choose a different tactic,
Besides focusing on the things I lack.
You tell me that I am more than my writing,
And that I am worth fighting,
For against all of this doubting.
You say that some separation would be good,
From the things that I know I should,
Be doing if I want to be understood.
You claim that my words hold too much weight,
And that I should lessen this debate,
Over with who I can actually relate.
Since I so obviously have you,
No matter what I might go through,
You have proven your love will always ensue.
So I am not quite sure what makes me seperate,
From the path that was once so straight,
And promised me a stable state.
I do not know what makes me want to show,
That there are lengths I am willing to go,
Through suffering and fatigue in order to grow.
I cannot fathom what I could consider to be,
More important than allowing myself to be me,
And to finally open my eyes and see.
That I am more than capable,
And I am finally stable,
In my own kind of fable.
My inability to relate to this life,
Is based in an overwhelming belief in strife,
One which I will have to learn to deny.
In order to applaud myself for what I’ve been through,
And know that I am being true,
To the actions and state of mind I want to pursue.
So maybe you are right,
And maybe I should lessen this fight,
So that maybe I will see less fright.
When I approach that which matters to me the most,
And I learn how to compose,
The thoughts that usually have me in throes.
Too overwhelmed to comprehend,
The feeling of my hand and this pen,
And the words that I resort to using in the end.
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Trust In The Release

I have too much to think about and even more to drink about.
My thoughts have become overwhelming and crushing as I attempt to rush in.
And the only thing that saves me now is the movement of my pen.
It saves me from the crazy that I have hidden inside and the lazy that I wear as a facade.
It prevents me from drowning in my own thoughts and always knows when I have been caught.
It reminds me that I need to own the feelings and emotions that are building and churning, and crushing and burning.
It soothes the wounds that are self-inflicted and reminds me to stop my bitching.
It allows a release for the secrets I like to keep.
It reminds me of a lust I once had for life and the fact that not everything is characterized by strife.
It lacks judgement and refuses to comment on the flaws I see so obviously within me.
It accepts and never rejects the person I have become and my quest to no longer feel numb.

But I question its influence and the gift it attempts to produce.
I question if it is misguiding me during my quest to be free.
I wonder if it has motives of its own and I wonder if I should actually just pick up my phone.
I am uncertain if I always needed this pen and if it will allow me to put my best foot in.
I accuse it of being just another distraction and one that lacks progressive action.
I doubt that this will all work out.
But for now I place my trust in the one object that can not return it,
And I know that I will never be burned by it.
I know that it will do as I say,
But I do not know what I want to say.
I allow it to take control of my life,
And I know that without it there would be no life.
It is the unassuming partner I have always wanted,
But I never knew what I actually wanted.
It makes me question myself,
And assure myself,
And want to never betray my true self,
Because that is all it knows itself.

Finding My Voice

Today I decided to become a writer.
I decided to stop the bullshit,
Pick up my pen,
And release the fire.
It is a fire of passion,
And one that has been stifled,
Due to a lack of action for the cause of distraction.

Today I decided to speak the truth.
I decided to mature,
And learn,
And abandon my youth.
Because my ignorance is no longer cute,
And the time has come for me to give myself a boost.

Today I decided to be myself.
I decided to embrace me,
The things I have to see,
And admit the place I want to be.
Since there is no place I would rather stand,
While I wait for everything to be placed in my wanting hand.

Today I admit my weakness,
And today I admit the bleakness,
Of a life lived with the slightest desire,
To rise above and achieve something higher,
Than the dreams I had as a girl,
And the trials that have been hurled,
In my direction,
In the pursuit of perfection.

Today I celebrate my strength,
And finally pick up my pace,
In order to achieve,
Something in which I truly believe,
Despite there being no guarantee,
That what I seek will set me free.
But I know I must try,
Because of the fire that burns inside,
And the restlessness that fills my bones,
And the thoughts that run through my dome.
I can no longer bury,
The words that I have always carried,
And it is finally time for a release,
And for me to share the secrets that I keep.
There is no other choice,
Since I have finally found my voice,
And I am stuck with this pursuit,
And admittance of proof,
That I do care about the life I live,
And what I have to give,
To this world and the people I love most,
And that do I have something to boast.

I am not seeking attention,
And I do not crave recognition.
This is not a pursuit of pension,
And this was never a premonition.
This is a quest for expression,
And a need to finally put my best foot in.
I did not seek this out as something to be,
And I did not know that this voice was inside of me,
But I trust that it is what I need,
And that this is my call to something that is not born out of greed,
It is a call of who I want to be,
And everything that I could see,
And everything that is free.