My pen etches deep in the page
Thoughts flow out and I can’t stop them
Deep from my soul they spill
And that intensity conveys through many pages
Keystrokes cannot get the same effect
Nor can they convey my mood like handwriting
So when asked why I still start out with pen to paper
I simply answer:
“my creativity comes out better that way”
Yeah, lately I’ve been getting hand cramps from all my “creativity” sometimes known as anger
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything
Its also simply strengthening my biceps and triceps and all those otherceps that creativityceps go with
And I’d be lost without that flow
Something about my thoughts flowing through ink, permanence filling books
My scribbles, my markings, my hieroglyphics on portable pyramid walls
Most will never see the light of day,
But in my heart, I know they’re there
Possibly to be stumbled upon one dreary gloomy day when I need a pick me up
Or an adventure trip on my own archaeological dig to memories that once were
They will still be there, patiently waiting for my return
As if no time has passed on the sundial tomb

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