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My Writing Utensils

A hat
My thinking cap
With its large brim
To block the glares of those
Who want me to
“Conform to modern stereotypes”

From its straw dense depths
Comes the knowledge to
Ponder, question my surroundings
Formulate ideas
And weave them, one by one
Into opinions as sturdy as the cloth they originated from

To illuminate them
A candle
Its flickering light only resting
On those rare, sturdy opinions
Shadowing the ideas
Too flimsy to turn into fabric

The candle’s flame
Burning passion
To sew that cloth
Sew it into
Stories, velvet soft
And poetry as deep as a wool shawl

A fountain pen
With which I can sooth that passion
As a garden fountain soothes the weary
Steadily sending plumes of cloth
Into an air
Of frenzied writing


In a steady stream
Unique and original like my cap
Knowledgeable and creative like my candle
It scribbles new ideas
Unabashedly over my old
Adding polka dots and swirls to a once plain fabric

So that when I
Remove my thinking cap
Snuff out my candle
And quell my fountain pen
I am left with trails of elaborate cloth
To reveal to the world



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