The ink leaks, pools at the head of the nib.
Chipped, yellow nail polish guides me, leading the way across
The page–jagged towers of neon yellow racing ahead.
“Don’t claw the pen,” my mother chided, “You’re no crab.”
Fingers cramp, but I still have so much to say.
My tattoo catches my eye–I so rarely see her when I write.
I see through her as I scrawl,
Meticulous lines indelibly marked on my skin. But now it’s
Chipped, yellow nail polish, trailing my path as my bicep cramps.
The ink leaks, pools at the head of the nib…
A Mote of a Life 
September 1, 2016 at 4:43 pm
What if you began with these lines: When I write. “I see through her as I scrawl,
Meticulous lines indelibly marked on my skin.” An idea to try moving stuff around.
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September 1, 2016 at 6:00 pm
Thanks! Yeah, I know I want to rearrange the content, just not sure what to put where.
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September 2, 2016 at 12:56 pm
Nothing is ever finished, but it’s perfect to have multiple versions/variations of the same one.
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September 1, 2016 at 6:34 pm
Your poem is very interesting with a ton of describing words for every sentence which gave me a great visual of what was going on. It was cool to see the difference between how you write and how I write. I also really liked how you bolded some of the writing in the poem for emphasis. Also so funny that your bicep cramps while writing! Who knew writing could give you a workout!
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