Pages in my journal filled with spilled ink
Teapots and kettles whistle at me for more
-The pressure I feel to say the right thing-
As the whistle grows louder, I write faster
Conveying words as if they were me
Strong and black
Spilled ink is nothing more than a mess
Unless spilled with the intention to heal
And now that I am empty
My audience is full
They whistle no more
Ready to pour out and fill the cup of another
Pages in my journal filled with spilled ink
Teapots and kettles whistle at me for more
-The pressure I feel to say the right thing-
As the whistle grows louder, I write faster
Conveying words as if they were me
Strong and black
Spilled ink is nothing more than a mess
Unless spilled with the intention to heal
And now that I am empty
My audience is full
They whistle no more
Ready to pour out and fill the cup of another
Clean me of my doubts
Make room for my confidence
Allow happiness
iHaveWrites 