i sit and think,will this work
will i be able to tell the world what i think
with this pencil and paper
i shrug ,does it reallly mater
no,i answer my self
i grab the pencil
and start to write
all the fellings i have keepted inside
the only way i can cry
is with this pencil and paper at my side
the ones who let me express myself
the ones that wont judge me
only give me permission
to let my feelings flow onto its body
pencil and paper are what let me tell my story
