Ink

The viscous liquid flows forth from my pen,
Staining the page,
Creating new worlds,
And breaking barriers.

The words border insane,
Metaphors and similes present everywhere,
And concrete and abstract nouns join the party.

I dot my eyes with hearts,
Put a bit more emphasis in the curves of the words,
And strike lines through L’s, creating T’s.

My inhibitions dissolve,
I can be myself on paper,
And even morph into someone I want to be.

The words meanings are like hieroglyphics,
Only I know what they truly mean,
What they imply,
And how they make me feel.

I hide my true feelings behind obscure words,
And if examined close enough,
They delineate my life and everything I’ve gone through.

All the hurt, joy and anger I’ve felt,
Recorded on paper,
For me to remember,
The things that have happened,
And the way I used to feel or the way I feel right now.

The viscous liquid is my drink and food.
It is all I need,
All I that I want and crave,
Because I am a writer.