Pen and Paper

Another poem based on an 8-word prompt. Showing a little bit of ego, I’ll admit it.

I find my playground
in the words I write on vellum
or parchment;
where memory or emotion, like a whisper tickling my neck,
escape this mortal shell
with fancy swirls and delicate strokes and spill onto a cracked yellowed page.
A rich dark ink from a smooth fountain pen tells my stories.

I’m free here, in this literary sandbox,
and nothing holds me back.
I do not crawl along the edges to find my place; I stand upright and pound the sand.
I own this space.
Lack of acceptance is a terror unknown here and my pen, forever a tyrant,
spares nothing or no one
and inertia does not exist.
Only forward movement,
headlong momentum, both intimate and public, marks my pages
with words devoid of nothing and verses filled with everything.
Pen and paper is my playground,
and I am the schoolyard bully.