I'm pressing my pen...

I'm pressing my pen so hard

against the white paper,

it might tear.

I know I don't need this much force

but my body obeys something older

than my new desires.

It does not lie.

As much as I crave to write softly,

it drags the weight of my sadness,

it will not tell a prettier story

than the one I carry.

Before I shame it,

before I tighten my jaw and judge,

I pause...

and I say:

Go ahead.

Break the fucking pen.

Spill the ink.

Make the mess.

Let the truth bleed bold across the page,

Because it was never meant to stay neat.