A Licence to Write

Poetry is an escape

The sound of my breathing

And the pen

Dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s

Then joining my y’s and g’s

Messy but kind of neat

Loosely described as calligraphy on heat

A license to write

I guess I’m uninsured

Claiming that my soul is off the road

Claiming that it’s sorned

I’ll go for a drive

And

The thought police arrive

Claiming they know the details of what’s inside of my mind

They can try to seize my pen

Voice

And rhymes

But when you need to write

Don’t touch what’s already mine

Technological advancements

Can flag certain posts

But a pen on paper

Fulfils me the most

Try and silence me now

I dare you to try

I’ve got a suitcase full of words

And I’m sick of being shy…