It drips down my paper
Runs down the spine
Covering everything
With words that are mine
Painful teardrops, sullen years
My pen brushes down all those awful fears
Yet smoothly, elegant
Not a bit refrained
Come words of hope
And joy unstrained
With every brush and stroke
The ink spills all to know
Black characters on pure white
My heart is there to show
Beauty is found in the blackest mark
No mistake can society condemn
My ink spills downward, down the page
It is for me…for her… for him
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