My pen forsakes me sometimes.
When I try to reach into the inner recesses of my mind.
The deepest sanctums of my soul.
I try to give expressions to the things that ail me,
The problems I see, but can’t actually speak out loud, what they are.
It’s not always problems though;
Sometimes it’s a plethora of pleasure.
A grand collection of things that make me happy.
They lighten my feet like a deer on steroids.
And sometimes, it’s about desires that could drive a normal being wild.
Inner needs which I need to feed upon.
Flesh I wish to touch, to do things that… let’s not go down that path…
And sometimes…it’s the sadness.
Deep, resonating, sadness.
I think it goes past what they call chronic melancholy.
It’s just pure, untouchable, unquestionable, sadness.
Even creativity. That as well goes untouched.
A song that’ll never be sung,
A poem that’ll never be read.
At this rate I wonder if my soul will ever be heard.
So with this great expanse of emotions that runs rampant in the fields of my inner being
Unseen by the entire world,
I walk to & fro, looking for a way out.
I find a pen and a pad…freedom at last…
It’s like trying to jump off a cliff, only to find you still on the ground.
‘Cos my pen forsakes me sometimes.
When I need to bleed in order to survive
To yield to this fire that rages within.
But my pen forsakes me.
It will not heed my pleas
Please!!! I beg…
Allow my soul the release of transmogrification.
Let my words be read by people in different locations.
Let me write my spirit,
And empty the vessels of my soul.
Till the pages of this pad are a roaring ocean…
The very notion of a disobedient pen seems so absurd!!!
“Word”? My pen asks me.
And I’m left to watch as it forsakes me.
I’m left to stew in my own juices.
Attempting to seek solace in ways that just won’t work.
I cannot speak with my mouth that which my hands wish to bring forth!!!
English people call it “Writer’s Block”…
And you may be wondering, why my pen would allow me write about it in such a manner…
Believe me; I have no idea either…
All I know is, sometimes, at times when I wish it would behave…
Sometimes, my pen forsakes me.