My pen

I haven't been writing lately.

No, I've been writing but I don't like it.

I can't finish it.

I can't finish it.

You liked my hands, you told me.

You said they were beautiful.

I believed you. I wanted to.

But my hands are shaking now.

I've been trying to write my songs lately.

You said you liked my voice.

So I try to sing. Do you hear it?

No melody comes to mind right now.

No.

Melody.

The words don't fit, they can't, I can't.

Fit in this reality.

I tried again, maybe tried too much,

So now it's overdone.

But I still don't like it.

Don't want to like it.

My words, my song are bland.

You're not holding my hands.

They are empty.

They are cold.

They are shaking…

I force myself, I beg and twist,

I held the pen too tight.

I broke it. I broke it

Now it won't write.

My hands are stained now.

And they shake as they reach for it.

The pen you gave me.

Before you went away.

I still can't write lately.

Not even to you.