Born with a pencil in her hand
before words in her veins
in a lonely kind of land
with very few remains
she ignores the splatters on the page
and wipes her tears far away
she must finish this poem, the world is her stage
to fill with her rage and dismay
her hand shakes with uncertainty
her heart clenches with nervous thoughts
everything inside her is all a plea
bursting inside a frightened box
she sets down the pencil and looks
looks at the creation she's made
she assures herself that her work will be in books
filled with relations of being afraid and betrayed
she breathes as she stores it under her bed
a notebook bursting with fear
but they don't understand that writing is not just in her head
it's in her heart, her blood, her soul, her tears
it's not just on the paper, plain for the eye to see
it's far but near, it's lying but sincere, everything, it all? Is in me
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Submission Name: Notebook Filled With Fear
