When pain course through my pen
I draft it down to scripts on papers,
And if you're one of my readers,
You'd clearly see my blight
Feel the hurt and sorrow as I write
When everything's not fine
Everyone is blind
You'll hear them speak of their despair
But none will lend you an ear
Or maybe two, it can also be few
But maybe it is you
Afraid of others' judgment
So you just kept quiet and stayed silent
In my case,
I just don't want to lose face.
It's my pride,
And these distresses, I must hide.
You don't look nice when you are blue.
You got droopy eyes, it isn't a good view.
These blank pages gives good aid
Extracting my grief, averting me being wretched.
Every stroke of the ballpoint pen
Reduce agony of a heart being broken
A pang in the chest every time I indite a message
A proof of a torn vanishing from existence
A drop of tears every after line
Comes with a sob as I finish a rhyme
And everytime I finish a poem
I drop everything as I get out of the zone
Taking a sigh in relief releasing what was suppressed
Closing my eyes, and taking a bit rest.
It is done and I had much fun
It's true, of course, that the pain isn't fully gone.
I feel it still even after opening my eyes
I feel it still but I have to rise.
Allow the book to contain the grudges
Leave it be to carry the baggage
Let the pages keep the hate,
So I can step forward, afresh on my new fate.

© KBM

#selflove