my pen

i was not made 

to write poems 

was not born with pen in-hand 

and an innate ability to understand

i was born to conceive children

not words

was not made

to build beauty from hurt 

i was not created 

for a lifetime fated 

littered with ink and 

more words than i can think 

i was not born

to puke on my page 

but i was born

with rage 

i was born with 

a spirit i cannot contain 

i was created to empathise 

and bring tears to eyes 

the soul within me  

cannot keep quiet 

i was not made for words 

but i was made to create 

and the page 

the poems

are a perfect escape 

a safe space 

to put down the rage 

when the confidence flickers 

and i feel bitter 

when the child within me

screams that i hit her

i know

somehow 

it must be shared 

and poetry 

is the only way 

i have ever dared 

words shared 

really do heal 

and the poems 

made me feel real 

though i was not born 

for my pen 

the loss of it 

would truly be my end. 

12:56pm - 10/09/25