My Pen 

I never imagined the day I would put my pen down. 

My pen is the one thing that got access to all the skeletons in my closet.

My faithful companion, through the good and the bad times.

The only one decent enough to remain real with me.

I have been unfaithful to my pen.

I long to pick it up again but am ashamed to do it.

Afraid to face it’s brutal honesty.

 I have not been living right.

My pen is bound to expose the bleeding wounds that I struggle to hide.

It is bound to expose all the scars behind the make up.

It will bring me face to face with all the fears I have been shying away from.

All the dreams we dreamed of together that have now faded into oblivion.

I held it last a dreamer. 

How do I pick it up again a sour loser?

I hear it beckoning to me to face my shortcomings.

My pen reflects my image straight to my soul .

Am I ready to face the image my pen paints?

I might not be ready but I think it’s time we finally reunited.

Time to face my failures.

We could always paint new dreams.

In hope that we eventually paint their realities