From the start I was nothing but a mere vessel to my words,
A living, breathing pen for my ideas.
A soul-less creature that just wants to be heard,
A voice-less identity that just wants to be seen.
I'm free, but yet I'm not,
As I am enslaved by my thoughts
To write the next line.
Judged by the feelings of those who see,
Those who can understand, these words.
I am but a hollow cavity filled with emotion.
A never ending something described only as; A Poet.
Hiding behind these thin sheets of paper,
The darkness of the ink,
The lines in between the lines.
I hide where my emotions lie;
In the next page.
I hide where my identity remains unknown,
Only known by my pen-name, and no more.
I am but a m
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