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by Jamie Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Nonsense · #2157690
my first poem
I grabbed the pen.
I do not own the pen.
I traced my pages with the pen.
I wrote off people with the pen.
I executed with the pen.
I hurt with the pen.

My power is the pen.

He lost his pen.
He could not find his pen.
He was weaker without his pen.
He was weaker with his pen.
He could not see much except his pen.
He was hurt by his pen.

His weakness is his pen.

She found her pen.
She was smiling with her pen.
She wrote happiness with her pen.
She loved people with her pen.
She drew with her pen.
She coloured with her pen.

Her pen was hers.

Where is mine?
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