Write

Trembling,

Wondering if it is worth it to write my soul out.

The pen drips ink,

Hovering, waiting for the scratch

Of writing to commence

It never comes.

My heart is locked up, guarded against

Letting people know.

My weaknesses

My desires

My pain.

I drop the pain, the ink splattering

All over the creamy, blank page.

And wouldn’t you know

The ink blots

Already spell out my

story.