Orange Gel Ink

Admit when I’m lost

Stop and settle nerves so anxious

However blank pages show up to listen

Been flirting with borders of death

I know I shouldn’t but I get turned around

Three sets of eyes stare me down

An unknown number dying in cleverly designed shredder

They say it’ll get better

Blank pages blameless ready for any willing story

Entertain sometime flexing allegories

Poetry happens to be a captivating category

Rules, or freestyle

Lines or paragraphs wide

Admitting when I’m lost

Recovery then pulling off, traveling

To a better me.

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