The stylus I grip in my palm is a stylist. I can create tears of joy, as I can create tears of pain. A grin, or a sharp smirk on another person's face. With this stylus, I have a hard drive within a hard drive which transfers my thoughts and life drives onto the paper in which I write. The ink can cause damage. It is venomous how I can express myself without timidness and the track of my train of thoughts is limitless so the stylist responsible for my make up won't be able to finish this. I set aside my stylus, and once again I pick it up so that my head would follow. With this stylus, I can be a role model and convince citizens to recycle their coke bottles. That CRV adds up after all. I could make my foes follow and they'll be motivated to pull the full throttle. A new generation after all, of us have deceased. Technology, beep-bop-boo-boo-bop. Bits and bits and bits of pieces of brain cells dissolving from the youth. These gadgets now make the Earth spin on its axis and became as hazardous as hatchets. Twitter addicts claim to be pragmatic. Their habitat is the web in which they crawl like arachnids. They turn to it just to pout. Electronics reigned over and brainwashed those spiders out. Meanwhile, I'm not just spewing these words or enhancing my diction to induce a catchy rhythm. I see life as a haiku, don't shoot down my potential. Brighten my mood by enlightening me with your views. I'll respect yours as you should respect mine too because your eyes do not see what my eyes do, it's true. We have ability. I know I have ability. I'm not always correct, but I'm satisfied with breaking my thoughts out of that correctional facility. I own this stylus. I myself am a stylus. You are a stylus. We continue to draw our paths, constructing a work of art that is abstract. We are sharp. You get the point. Change is days and days away. Utilize the stylus correctly and ensure that your ink does not fade away. Please, don't be afraid. And don't be childish. Sincerely, my stylus.