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