Broken Pencil
I see you leave marks on my paper as I guide you with my hand.
With your wooden body and your painted clothes.
The pressure I put on you as I write my words,
the paper begins to smudge.
As I guide you,
I make mistakes.
As your tip becomes weak because of the pressure I put on you,
I sharpen to make you strong again.
As I put my thoughts onto paper,
I guide you to create my words.
The words that my lips will never say.
I write.
I will keep writing,
and writing,
and writing
until,
you break.
I look at you now,
your broken body in half.
I look at you now.
Now that you are broken,
you are no more.
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