Brutally clean pages forced with dirty pens.

Obsessed with death she is.

She uses pen as her knife; her victim paper.

Words make their quick exit from mind to voice box.

Anger sweeps from fist first to bloody hands.

Slashing the spaces that once stand---for what they believe in.

Now there are only words where lines were

No time for spaces as she eliminates them.

Planning how to destroy and manipulate them.

Confuse and control it.

Contort and distort it.

 

Lyrical weapons firing through rhyme and alliteration.

She learns that this is the one art that doesn’t need much patience.

Writing how church and state once had play dates but someone said the word

God made them feel uncomfortable so they stopped.

Writing how honest mistakes make love hurt the worst.

Versus begin flowing into notebooks with a blue pen.

No room for error because every word is not a mistake.

Consonants and vowels are forming new relationships.

Nuclear families turn extended as love turns to hate & discriminate turns to equality.

Writing how she found love in a back alley with paper and pencils.

She loved to annihilate the system by using words to destroy her victims.

"She" is me.

Dangerous I am when I put a sick spin on what you say to me.

Your words taught me how to not neglect my feelings, but to transcribe them to paper yet it feels like I’m writing in hieroglyphics because no gets it.

Remember next the time you generate your hate and mindless banter that your words become lost in translation on crumbled up pages in the waste bin.