RESPECT THE PEN

By April Sims © 2006

My inner most thoughts bleed

Onto paper via the pen

The pen is mightier than the sword

And can be passed down from generation to generation

The pen can make or break a nation

The pen can welcome life into the nursery

Or release an inmate from the belly

Of the beast

And mark their tombstone rest in peace

The pen can start or stop a war

And I am not afraid to say that I am the pen's whore

The pen awakens me early in the morning

And will not allow me to sleep

Forcing me to bleed my life and dreams onto paper

To make the ends meet

Sometimes the pen is my master

And I am the pen's willing slave

Sometimes the pen is like Chuckie

And we are friends to the end

My friend is like crack

And keeps calling me mannnnn

Calling me like crack called Pookie

In that cold, dark, gloomy and desolate hallway

Under the staircase in New Jack City

The pen introduced me to mic

And now that we have been introduced

The pen makes me write

Even more at wee hours of the morning

And late at night

One hit from the pen

And I was and still am hooked

And I don't need or want your pity

Because the pen allows me to travel from venue to venue

And city to city

The pen has a kissing cousin

And they are one in the same

Because they bleed my brain

When the pen runs out

I reach for the pen's cousin pencil

One is potent but together

They both constantly stimulate my mental

The pen and pencil are better than cocaine

When I have them in one hand

They keep me from going I insane in my membrane

They allow me to be a feature at open mics

Instead of on America's Most Wanted or Cops

They keep me void of blood on my hands

And bars in my face

They keep me from making gate

Counting till the day I will gain my FREEdom

They give me my FREE

My mental is transferred to the pen

Which then sacrifices

And drips my darkest secrets

As well as my

Thoughts

  Dreams

And

    Schemes

Onto paper via its own blood

The pen does not judge me

Or condemn me

The pen only reveals what flows through me

And one day when my life is over and

My box of papers is opened

People will finally stop and take the time

To get to know the real me

As documented via the pen