Black Ink

I pressed my pen against my paper and ink

stained so deep I was sure these words would last forever. 

Writing under pressure, I was sure my pages would stick together 

But no matter what happens I still choose my best pen first.

I choose my pen first because my pen first chose me, and I dedicate my pen to my brothers with voices and sistas with dreams, to every single poet who’s motives are the same as me. 

This pen connected me to my roots, 

Gave me more rhythm than blues

This pen helped me forget that my heart was ever even broken. 

I thank God for it, after all he gave it to me.