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literature
I was scared to pick up a pen
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Literature Text
I was scared to pick up a pen
For two years
I was scared to pick up a pen
Criticism
Was sometimes constructive
But mostly criticism came from
A woman who was jaded
And chose to dislike me
So I was scared to pick up a pen
I didn’t think my words were good enough
I didn’t think my thoughts were good enough
I didn’t think any of it was good enough
I wanted my words to be beautiful
I wanted my words to be meaningful
I wanted them to have a Shape and a Size
I wanted them to leave a hole in the universe
Where I could follow, if I wanted
But I didn’t think my words were good enough
And I was scared to pen them
For fear of ridicule
Rejection
Embarrassment
Being told what I already thought
“These words are not good enough”
But I have always loved words
And I forgot that
When I was fifteen I penned these words
It is not blood that my heart pumps around my body,
It is the tiny letters b-l-o-o-d penned in red ink
That delivers oxygen to my vital organs
And I forgot that
So this is the first piece of poetry I have written
In two years
It is not as beautiful or as lyrical as I would like
But, for me, it has a Size and a Shape
For me, it leaves a hole in the universe
Where I can follow if I want
There will always be someone to tell me
“These words are not good enough”
“This poem is not good enough”
“You are not good enough”
But I will never forget my love of words
Cut me, and I bleed ink
For two years
I was scared to pick up a pen
Criticism
Was sometimes constructive
But mostly criticism came from
A woman who was jaded
And chose to dislike me
So I was scared to pick up a pen
I didn’t think my words were good enough
I didn’t think my thoughts were good enough
I didn’t think any of it was good enough
I wanted my words to be beautiful
I wanted my words to be meaningful
I wanted them to have a Shape and a Size
I wanted them to leave a hole in the universe
Where I could follow, if I wanted
But I didn’t think my words were good enough
And I was scared to pen them
For fear of ridicule
Rejection
Embarrassment
Being told what I already thought
“These words are not good enough”
But I have always loved words
And I forgot that
When I was fifteen I penned these words
It is not blood that my heart pumps around my body,
It is the tiny letters b-l-o-o-d penned in red ink
That delivers oxygen to my vital organs
And I forgot that
So this is the first piece of poetry I have written
In two years
It is not as beautiful or as lyrical as I would like
But, for me, it has a Size and a Shape
For me, it leaves a hole in the universe
Where I can follow if I want
There will always be someone to tell me
“These words are not good enough”
“This poem is not good enough”
“You are not good enough”
But I will never forget my love of words
Cut me, and I bleed ink
© 2013 - 2024 and-they-said-fall
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