My pen doesn't judge nor does it love, friends come and go but my pen doesn't budge, it knows what's on my mind, can repeat my thoughts verbatim, though my pen has no voice, it speaks for me when I can't say much, my pen brings me happiness, without my pen I don't exist, it helps me to reminisce, writing down the things I could never forget, to be real my pen was there when I ain't have sh*t, the tool I use to vent, the only way of making sense, no matter how many times I sit it down I pick it up again, because the pen was meant for me, and I was meant for the pen.....