My Pen and I

June 18, 2017 by Patrick Starks

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My pen… you have always been my greatest weapon, my greatest friend. You know me, you listen to me, and feel what I feel. Are you a replication of me? Or are you truly here to help. You must be here to help—you have been with me since I was a child.

My Pen… you have never been one to doubt me, to envy me, but support me in ways unimaginable. And for the time’s I felt I couldn’t get through the struggles, for the times I felt I could not get through the pain—it was you who were there to console me.

Today is another day and we are here together in this cold candle lit room as always. I couldn’t be any more carefree with my words, than I am with you today—after all I trust you with my life. It is me and you against the world after all, or can it be much more than that? What if the words on this coffee stained paper could help the world, help them see—see why we are all here.

How can you and I do what some see as the impossible? How can I? It has always been you that has had the most courage in these stressful times.

My pen… you are all the world needs; this I know, and truly believe. Without you, lessons would never be taught, never mentioned— and there would be no history of history to be learned. However, I am not ready to give you up—up to the world, not now, maybe never. Is it selfish of me to be this way, to keep you from a world filled with such animosity? You were always the one who was there for me, not them.

Why should I do anything for them? They have done nothing for me. All they ever gave me was hate, jealousy, or fear—even in my kindest moments.

My Pen… in a world so ignorant from the truth, what could they possible learn from our words? What if some care not to learn? What then? How can the world become a better place if everyone is so stuck in their ways of judgement? —always believing one group or culture to be the better suited to lead than the rest. Why can’t we all be equal? Aren’t we all equal? We are just human after all, although, some like to believe themselves to be gods—with the money they hurl around. However, my grandfather always told me—my enemies, my foes, they bleed as we do.

My Pen… Can you feel my concern? I only want happiness in this world. Speak to me, I wish to hear your thoughts?  I feel I can no longer write, nor in these dark times—see the light.

The girl then let go of the pen, the pen hovered in front.

“I hear you child. However, it is not in your interest to worry about what others think of you. You should only be concerned with how you feel about yourself, only then will you find happiness.” The pen replied.

“Well… I don’t really know how I feel about myself, I’m still trying to figure that out.” The girl said.

“I see…”. The pen pondered.

“Where would I start? Where would I find my answer?”

“Do you know how powerful your words are? With your words alone, you have the power to change more than the people around you, including yourself, but the world.”

“I guess… I mean… people always tell me that, but it never seems to work. I always fall short.”

“How so?”

“I try to believe, I try to put out positive vibes, I try to smile, but there is always some asshole around in the world to strip it from me. It’s like people are allergic to positivity or something.”

The pen chuckled. “Yes… and do you know why?”

“No, not really.”

“It’s because some people never had the strength or courage to face their own fears, they envy the positive ones around them, that are making their dreams come true. Some will even do things to strip that positivity from those people—hoping that they will find weakness in them, as they do within themselves.”

“So… does that make me weak as well?  I can give a whole bunch of times I’ve shown weakness to these people. I guess I am weak as well…”

“No my child, you are much stronger than them, but still have much of that strength to obtain, to survive the many challenges of life that wait ahead.”

“So is this like a test?”

“Yes… yes, you can say it’s something like that. A test to make you stronger—stronger than what you are now.”

The girl hesitated. She was unsure if she was ready to give her words to the world.  Before the pen rest its fine point against the grain of the paper, it spoke its last words.

“And girl…”

“Yes?”

“Remember. Always stay strong, have reason for why you are here, and fall in love with it. Work hard at it and never let anyone manipulate it, for that is there very purpose.”

The girl believed the pen as she had always, and once again built the courage to write—not for just the world, but for herself as a reminder to stay strong. The girl wrote for years, becoming well known around the world, but faced more enemies as she climbed higher in her ranks. Fifteen years had gone by and she was now thirty-seven. She felt on top of the world, she was finally becoming the change she wanted to see in the world, until the day came when she lost her pen. The girl became lost afterwards and felt she could no longer write, but deep within her heart true purpose was discovered—deep within her story began.

 

 

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