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I am back
My pen was moving furiously but hers was literally running a marathon. They were running with the weight of so many similies, metaphors, imagery and what have you. My pen traveled light, yet it was jealous of her might. It lacked her understanding, her imagination. My pen carried only emotions.
I watched my pen juggling and my mind struggling..to meet her pen in the literary space. My pen was leaking..uff! I noticed its silent tears and that was freaking, freaking me out. I loved my pen and wondered what ailed my love. It took me a long time to understand the pen's madness, obsession with others it felt was better, amazingly better. Oh! it wanted to be like the Joneses, hmm? It was running faster than my imagination could, and was tripping over all those metaphors and heavy vocabulary that it couldn't unfortunately carry. I caressed the pen lovingly. It had become me, so much like me. It needed some sense with gentle whacks. Why only the pen? Didn't I need it too?
Today, my sensible whacks saved me. My pen walks liesurely, enjoying the words scenery, its own world's beautiful imagery. So what if it doesn't carry the stars? So what if it has its own unique scars? My pen shines..shines like a different star and has put its stars in my eyes. I learnt a lot from my pen. I became like my pen.. relaxed n unhurried, unmindful of other designer pens.
My pen now smiles..it carries itself beautifully, on legs that are not shapely, that have not been well shaved, yet it walks.. perfectly. It walks on its own, even hobbles on two left feet at times, but I have grown to love it, as it is. It's my pen, a part of me.. carrying me as I am, beautifully.
The once recalcitrant pen has since taught me the art of self-love and is now basking in the freedom to write its way, maybe not the right way yet definitely it is enjoying its right, its might, perfectly imperfect in its write.
I smile watching my humour bone tickle my pen, tickle me and my friends. We chuckle together as I kiss my pen and pat my back for penning what little I have, unconcerned of what I greatly lack.
Folks, I am back.
Sahi na?🤗
© nobody
I watched my pen juggling and my mind struggling..to meet her pen in the literary space. My pen was leaking..uff! I noticed its silent tears and that was freaking, freaking me out. I loved my pen and wondered what ailed my love. It took me a long time to understand the pen's madness, obsession with others it felt was better, amazingly better. Oh! it wanted to be like the Joneses, hmm? It was running faster than my imagination could, and was tripping over all those metaphors and heavy vocabulary that it couldn't unfortunately carry. I caressed the pen lovingly. It had become me, so much like me. It needed some sense with gentle whacks. Why only the pen? Didn't I need it too?
Today, my sensible whacks saved me. My pen walks liesurely, enjoying the words scenery, its own world's beautiful imagery. So what if it doesn't carry the stars? So what if it has its own unique scars? My pen shines..shines like a different star and has put its stars in my eyes. I learnt a lot from my pen. I became like my pen.. relaxed n unhurried, unmindful of other designer pens.
My pen now smiles..it carries itself beautifully, on legs that are not shapely, that have not been well shaved, yet it walks.. perfectly. It walks on its own, even hobbles on two left feet at times, but I have grown to love it, as it is. It's my pen, a part of me.. carrying me as I am, beautifully.
The once recalcitrant pen has since taught me the art of self-love and is now basking in the freedom to write its way, maybe not the right way yet definitely it is enjoying its right, its might, perfectly imperfect in its write.
I smile watching my humour bone tickle my pen, tickle me and my friends. We chuckle together as I kiss my pen and pat my back for penning what little I have, unconcerned of what I greatly lack.
Folks, I am back.
Sahi na?🤗
© nobody
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