most of my poems have some kind of explanation to them. I don’t think this one needs it. Any writers out there who have experienced this will know what it’s all about

 

Put down the pen

Steal all my cash and take all my money.
smash up my phone and tell me it’s funny.
cancel my calm and mess with my zen.
but put down the paper, put down the pen.
The words that I write are magic to me
and you can’t comprehend all the lands that I see.
For an ocean of language is here only when,
I’m staring at paper, I’m holding the pen.
There’s people I know that you’ll never meet
for they are not the kind that you’d see in the street.
They’re locked in my head but now and again
they escape onto paper, they live through the pen.
You can’t understand what these words really mean
and you don’t really look at the pages you’ve seen.
If you did then you’d see I’m myself only when
I’m staring at paper, I’m holding the pen.
So treat me with scorn and laugh at my life.
Fill up my days with hatred and strife.
Giggle with glee but promise me then
you’ll put down the paper, put down the pen.
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