Promise 5&6: Quill and Pen

Promise 5: Quill

My words, mine affliction
Your judgement, my cure
But I refuse the treatment
It, alone is mine to endure
I am ill with a proclivity
Of Seeing using words
To observe around me
All that is quite absurd
Taste rhyme or reason
To hear with eager lips
With teeth and tongue,
And talkative fingertips
Quill and Pen dipped
In blood, our hands
Viscous fluid smears
Inky pages with tears

Promise 6: Pen
I write these words knowing
that you likely won’t read them.
They, kept clandestine from that
careful and critical gaze of yours.
Is it for fear of being judged
that I will never reveal this?
Perhaps, but my fear is nothing-
Between each verse reveals all.
I always have trouble,
What is it I want to write?
I struggle with finding it,
the message I want to say.
Maybe, I want to write a book
about you or I… or us both
But no one sets out to write
a book about just one thing.
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