When you told me to stop writing
Did you know you were asking me to stop breathing as well?
It was like you were ripping out my veins
Draining me of blood
And removing my oxygen all at once?
If you take my pen and paper
I am no longer the poet in the streets
I am no longer an artist
Or a soul
I turn into one of you
It is something in which I do not wish to be
You are an ordinary human being
But I am a poet, a writer, a new soul
You can not take away my pen and paper
And expect me to keep on living
That pen and paper is my life