i have held your hand
more than any lover
more than any mother
i have danced with your fingers
more times than named numbers
when the world is
fighting
humans screaming, lighting
fires under their own feet
trying to warm their toes
and instead setting themselves
alight
in the merciless fights
i keep myself warm
by embracing the page
the page
my truest friend
excluding you, of course
the dance floor, the stage
ink stained, strained, pained
continually changed
the page is where
you hold everything
you are too afraid to say
sometimes, i run dry
the ink refuses to cry
sometimes, i want for time
to simply lie
and breathe
but you will not let me be
i do not blame you
there is much to write
when the voices in your head
won’t give up their fight
i understand the plague of your hand
and i do love to dance
but sometimes
i wish you’d
push on my cap
and rest me in your lap
i am, inky, green
streaming with poetry
and marking the books of
the children you teach
what a beautiful thing
to be
of every vessel that could
contain all of me
a pen
is special indeed.
12:52pm - 29/01/26