Penning

Poetry is another facet of my constant, endless thought.

The remembering and forgetting of everything I've been taught.

Letters burned into each compartment of my brain.

Penning a raging fantasy that I can barely seem to contain.

The mind open to countless possibilities.

And my reasoning, writing is my responsibility.

Picking at each delicate thought and every single letter.

Going over sentences constantly to make each flow better.

Intertwining each line with wondrous descriptions

soaking up the full beauty of everything I've written.

My poetry is not a game.

It is not something you can push aside.

The more I write these emotions.

The thoughts inside slowly die.

Thinking back to days of lore

and inking history down.

The pit of my stomach is butterflies

the feelings in which I drown.