I pour my memories through this pen
Climbing down the lines and margins
The maturing letters bond and stretch
They burn my eyes with their truth
Fresh paper loses its virginity
When thoughts become written word
They stain and press themselves
Like gravel into a knee
The fibers scream and beg
Pulling apart, coming undone
The ink comes to the surface
Bright and vibrant and new
Each of your poems that I read leave me with the same thought- Damn she’s good!
Yes, you are good, when you trust yourself…
you got all it takes, just do it…