My Pen and Paper

My pen and paper know

Each part of me.

Perhaps, better than I do.

They were here before I can recollect

And they'll be here long after I leave

And they'll share my words and thoughts And my rushes and my clots,

Each one of them, in discerning detail

To whoever may stumble upon and ask.

They recognize each tear that once fell 

Upon their skin, it dried away,

But the paper kept the mark and crippled

And the pen scribbled the tear's pretext

On the dry crippled paper.

They hold decades of me, more than I

Can ever hope to remember.

They listen and they do so silently

To whatever drivel I do share

And they do not judge but heal

When I do so.

They're my first-responders and

They're my catharsis.

My pen and paper, I hold them dearer,

Than most.