Category: Writers Block
Paper is a
dearest friend.
It's more than just
a flat, solid, piece
of wood pulp.
It neither judges,
nor spreads rumors or lies.
It doesn't use
thy own words against thee.
It cannot criticize
or object thy words.
It listens.
As words are written
burdens slide
off thy shoulders,
down thy arm,
and onto the page.
As the writing
utensil
moves across each line,
thy problems fly away.
It will not dislike thee
because of thy physical
appearance.
It will not despise thee
if thy
rip, scribble on, or cut it.
Paper is thy vent,
Thy abiotic comforter.
The sheet of white
is always
available.
It shall never leave thee.
It will never turn its back
on thee.
No, paper cannot
hug thee and rub thy back.
But
it can collect thy tears.
The page before thee
cannot dispute thy words,
cannot make them seem
frivolous,
cannot offend thee.
Unable to run away,
it will always stay.
awwww?