(poems go here) My pen sculpts a future
Potential to work and to enjoy with one job
My pen sculpts a dream
Hope of proving my father wrong that writing is dead

To dream illimitably
I have the worker chisel away at the pages
To embrace fully
His unplanned ways bleeds my soul

A dream of liberation
My pen takes charge of me
A book of compensability
My pen blazed through the pages

Am I really the one in control when this measly pen sculpts?
Sure it is mine but the possession that falls far beyond my reach

I still hold him like a priest would but when my pen sculpts
I cannot control his demons
I am not in charge

My pen sculpts the world beyond
Opening my thoughts
My pen sculpts as if its not my own
Setting me free

But I write
I write to disimprison the thoughts my mind creates
And I speak
I speak to make statements others cannot by pen and paper
For I live
I live to fulfill the dreams my parents have through a talent
Yet I am
I am American with no limitations but the ones I set myself

I write because my pen says all the words I cannot