Let’s pick up the pen,
And write down our worries;
Our deepest fears,
The past we keep buried;
Words left unsaid,
And hearts we have broken;
words said- regretted,
chances Untaken.

Pick up that pen,
And bleed out emotions;
In Black and red,
Relief all your burdens;
bold out the ones-
That sticks pins far deeper;
italic the hurt-
Imprinted on others.

Now pick up the pen,
And notice the inkwell-
dried out, like the past,
Can’t be resurrected.
It’s a deadweight, a tool
With no use in presence.
Drop off the pen,
In it’s right place- history.

Image credit:
P.S don’t forget, If you’ve a got a story needing to be told, I would love to hear it. Let’s join hands to talk about Mental illness and blur out the stigma associated with it. You can send me your Stories at my email: For more information, visit this post. Looking forward to hearing from you.