Monday, August 6, 2012

Pencil and Paper

I can’t write poetry on my computer,
I can’t connect with the click clack of keys,
When the smooth feel of pencil on paper puts my mind at ease,
Like your smooth lies always aim to please me,
Instead your words just tease me,
Because theres only enough truth to tell me theres no real truth at all in your sentence,
But in your defense you know that I know that I don’t want to know where you were tonight,
I don’t want another fight,
So when you stroll in I pick up my pencil and I write,
I write to free my soul from your love that chokes me,
It has to be love because you only give it to me,
Out of everyone else you could have picked to punish you chose me so I must be special,
You deliver your half truths with conviction,
Confessions I never required that sound more like admissions of guilt,
I never asked,
I’d rather not know,
So if you stay silent maybe the white noise from lead scratching paper,
Will be loud enough to wash away the obvious,
And if you keep talking maybe the white noise will make your dark words into white lies,
Which deliver blows with good intention,
And perhaps they won’t prick so much at my conscience which screams the obvious,
Even though my pencil on paper makes the obvious less conspicuous,
And my eraser can take away the words I don’t want to see, hear, believe,
You can remain my knight in shining armor as long as I keep scribbling,
Maybe I wont hear the click clack of your keys as you leave. Again.

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