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Sharp pencil.   Blank paper.   No eraser.   No mistakes allowed.   Find another pencil, my mind says.   Don't get a new piece of paper.  
  Sleek black pen And Pearly white paper Ready to write But Out of words   Sharpened pencil
O how my pencil fills me with delight For as I do write with its leaded tip I induce feelings of love, joy, or fright On a summer’s voyage, I can take trip.
Don't be afraid to ditch a pencil for a pen Because when you erase,  it still leaves a mark. So be confident Write permanently on others' minds and hearts Let them see your smudges, and typos,
Oh, sweet liberty. The graphite scratches along, so now I am free.   Free to feel all things Liberated emotions My heart holds no rules.   Thank you, poetry,
my pencils are dull. not because they aren’t tended to, not because they’re like the overused pencils in a kindergarten class.   my pencils, they have no sharpener.
Oh pencil, Lead so fine and the wood dipped in yellow The feeling of wood in my palm, My senses ignight. The desire to write To draw  The feelings inside. This pencil of mine Is my life
I curve, the lines flow elegantly onto the surface Dark curves, long curves, jagged curves and smooth curves All becomes a piece of the puzzle.
Water surrounds the only place you can call home Counting the weeks Each tally mark reading 1, 2, 3 You remember the first day you woke up The first time animal became part of your name
Is she really what she seems? Tall, Skinny and Slick She walks on our command And sits down when we do not need her
A yellow stick It can perform any trick
I am not a pencil, I am a pen.  Why? I think I'd rather be a pencil,  but I am not.   For instance, the number 2 pencil gets prized for being the most used during tests. 
Why do I write in pencil? I'm afraid of permenant feelings. Why is your name in Sharpie? Because you're already permenant, darling.
Trails of gray blazing the untrailed canvas It's curves at it's masters every whim Success! The man says, as he puts it aside and reprints with the black. It's work shaded by the of ink
Why do you keep pushing me against this paper? You’re doing it right now! Please stop! You’re only making me smaller and soon there will be nothing left of me.
  But what if my pencil breaks? Does that make my stories fake? What if it was an honest mistake? Am I now evil, am I now a fool.
My one on one time begins as soon as I pick up this pencilWriting to release these contemplationsThe lead takes me to a process of distillationAs I am being careful not to run out from this eraser
Paper's all around, Shavings of pencil and ereaser, The effect of writers block.
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