A Crow’s Foot

One alphabet at a time, my ballpoint pen spits out words on a page. I press on the plastic pen like I can break glass with my finger tips. Through the grip echoes my muscle, moving the piercing edge of the ink. With a roll, the black ink oozes out, leaving scars against the paper and through the pages; bold, rugged, and messy. I write words that scream. Words that are poisonous and ugly. Filthy and unforgiven. My hand loses concentration. The pen drops. Though the grip remains. My hand pauses still in the shape of a crow’s foot. If my arms had wings, they’d flown away. So I’d never had to write.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s