(no subject)

[pointsandlaughs]

a new notebook full of new beginnings
blank pages with hope of an epiphany of sorts
crisp, clean pages with lines showing me
that evey little square is important
I didn't get the one I wanted
I didn't want those squares
Just lines from left to right
or is it right to left
to guide my pen into the wonderful world
of ink splattering wrist spasms
that may or may not be worth interpreting
I thought it fate that I chose the wrong notebook
It ended up being the perfect reminiscence of a time
when I used to write the most heartfelt verses
with the scratching of lead to paper
and the rubbing of the side of my palm
you see, what was supposed to be
a notebook of graph paper for my science class
became my poetic canvas
pencil, pen, sharpie, I didn't care
as long as it hit the paper in just the way I needed it
so that the razor wouldn't have to penetrate my skin
instead my pen tore through those pages
and freed those captive thoughts
led them down the great halls of rhyme
and brought them into my room full of memories
my walls lined with letters that blossomed into poems
but once again those captives were ambushed
and I found that there was no ink left in my pen
lost, without words to guide me
I searched for years
for that one utensil that would take me
where I needed to go
but the only utensils I found were
much more destructive than I thought