Pencil
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Sharp pencil.
Blank paper.
No eraser.
No mistakes allowed.
Find another pencil, my mind says.
Don't get a new piece of paper.
Sleek black pen
And
Pearly white paper
Ready to write
But
Out of words
Sharpened pencil
O how my pencil fills me with delight
For as I do write with its leaded tip
I induce feelings of love, joy, or fright
On a summer’s voyage, I can take trip.
Don't be afraid to ditch a pencil for a pen
Because when you erase,
it still leaves a mark.
So be confident
Write permanently on others' minds and hearts
Let them see your smudges,
and typos,
Oh, sweet liberty.
The graphite scratches along,
so now I am free.
Free to feel all things
Liberated emotions
My heart holds no rules.
Thank you, poetry,
my pencils are dull.
not because they aren’t tended to,
not because they’re like the overused pencils
in a kindergarten class.
my pencils, they have no sharpener.
Oh pencil,
Lead so fine and the wood dipped in yellow
The feeling of wood in my palm,
My senses ignight.
The desire to write
To draw
The feelings inside.
This pencil of mine
Is my life
I curve, the lines flow elegantly onto the surface
Dark curves, long curves, jagged curves and smooth curves
All becomes a piece of the puzzle.
Water surrounds the only place you can call home
Counting the weeks
Each tally mark reading
1, 2, 3
You remember the first day you woke up
The first time animal became part of your name
Is she really what she seems?
Tall, Skinny and Slick
She walks on our command
And sits down when we do not need her
I am not a pencil, I am a pen.
Why? I think I'd rather be a pencil,
but I am not.
For instance, the number 2
pencil gets prized for being
the most used during tests.
Why do I write in pencil?
I'm afraid of permenant feelings.
Why is your name in Sharpie?
Because you're already permenant, darling.
Trails of gray blazing the untrailed canvas
It's curves at it's masters every whim
Success! The man says, as he puts it aside
and reprints with the black.
It's work shaded by the of ink
Why do you keep pushing me against this paper? You’re doing it right now! Please stop! You’re only making me smaller and soon there will be nothing left of me.
But what if my pencil breaks?
Does that make my stories fake?
What if it was an honest mistake?
Am I now evil, am I now a fool.
My one on one time begins as soon as I pick up this pencilWriting to release these contemplationsThe lead takes me to a process of distillationAs I am being careful not to run out from this eraser