A Dancing Quill




I am a dancing quill.
One that has been
plucked away
and made to dream the
improbable
and the impossible.
I run dry on the nib often
stitching up words
that'll barely be seen.
I drown myself often
in the pool of thoughts.
Sometimes I even scream at the
excruciating squeaks on rough
patches and sheets.
Those days I crave for air
in my lungs.
But then I keep on dreaming,
dreaming
and again because that is
what I am made to.
Until I realize they're
less possible and absurd.
And maybe, just maybe,
That is what I am made for: letting
everything slip away whilst dreaming.

And with all this, I will understand why
you would want to stick around
anyone but a scruffy feather dreamer.
Anyone. 

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