The Blue Ink Pen

One day I picked up a single lonely blue ink pen. 

Thinking to myself "Oh, here we go again."

What was the point of writing? 

When everyone around me kept fighting

Everyday I got up, and it was all the same

The feelings buried deep inside, I was ashamed

Why was I writing? 

The way my pen swirled and cut across the paper was so inviting

Maybe that was why I was writing. 

A release to all the demons I kept inside

Knowing these poem's knew why I cried

I wrote for me

To be free from these shackles of society

Because when you write about how you feel deep deep down

Even when you're facedown in the ground

You have the power to rise up and express

Everything you've come to confess

These are the reasons I've chosen to write

Not to sign away my thoughts, but to ignite

Powerful words that shoot down to your core

So that we may all begin to soar.