One Pen, One Million Possibilities.
The world confines me,
It puts me in a darkness.
People abuse me,
They think I am heartless.
But my thoughts are open,
They are alive.
I can write them on paper,
And believe I will survive.
The words are my comfort,
Like a cozy warm blanket.
Almost like a warm summer,
It depends on how you take it.
Poetry is art,
It's soothing to me.
With this pen,
I can pour out my heart,
And let the pages bleed.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: