Treasure Island

Michael Biondi

(01-05-90 / rochester ny)

Why I Picked Up This Pen

I am inconclusively diluting this body
with all of these false conclusions
that I have caught while fishing for love.
And at the end of the day,
the only thing left to do is write.
This pen paints pictures with words
using burning alcoholic ink
and the blood from every young girls wrist
that I sadly could not save.
The only motion my brain triggers,
is for my hand to scribble my heart
and I was provided a pen within the womb
to write before I was born.
Once I entered this world,
I saw love and I saw pain
and now I look above and see the rain
because it's not every day that the sun shines,
but I have found the beauty in its darkness.
The cloud cover can look as beautiful as a princess
just waiting to break apart into a bright shining queen
or as dark as the hell beneath our feet.
But at the end of the day,
the only thing left to do is write.
I have been screaming out on this here loose leaf
since before the days I can remember,
back when a hallway of lockers meant something
and everyone claimed that we were too young for love.
But love possesses no such age and don't tell me
when exactly my heart is allowed to beat
because I control these here two feet
and I'll approach life from any angle that I please.
Just let me breathe, let me breathe…
let me exhale these breaths onto these pages
because it's the only way to clearly see this world.
I picked up this pen over politics,
to compose of their corruption
and I portray the pieces of this life
in a light that spots the fact we have yet to find peace.
I picked up this pen over the thought of a God,
because I am twenty-two and I am yet to find him;
who's to say that we weren't created in the stars,
constructed by the beautiful moon itself?
I picked up this pen over the feeling of love
and I cannot stop writing about a gorgeous girl back home.
I picked up this pen because of all these sleepless nights
and I write with such insomniac ink,
because I'd rather dream while I am awake.
I picked up this pen for them, for you, for me
and for the world to see that I am just a boy with a heart.
This tremendous world can take my life at any moment
but it can never take my words;
they will live on and walk within every womb
and hopefully help to be the birth of beauty,
to help find true love and peace again,
because I feel is if they left this earth a long time ago.
Now were at the end of this poem,
and the only thing left to do is write another one.

Submitted: Thursday, April 05, 2012

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