How strange it feels
to pick up the pen,
with the intent to write.
As if I could peel away my skin
and let poetry see the light.

Exposure of the soul
in a way that few would
understand,
leaving my pen sitting limp
suddenly in my once so eager hands.

I feel like it should not stop me
the idea that I might be misunderstood,
instead I will let flower the words
and see if I can find the art within.