I serve my pen to feed my flesh and my soul extract honey from the alphabets
I come alive and true, when I write
I have no mirror, no dressing room, no camera,
I know no shame
I wait for no apologies
I skip commas, apostrophes, and I sure ignore exclamation marks
I love me in that place of no rules
my heart an ocean filled with word recipes
And me, wow! the master chef cooking a-b-c-d
as the aroma of words whistling in my kitchen of thoughts
my pen is chopping, peeling, sautéing, basting, frying,
every loss, every disappointment, every fear, every love
and serve as an ink to my pain.
© 2009 Emu Getachew
Emu Getachew
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ink-for-my-pain/
