My pen is but a pin
That puts a tale on those feelings that go unchecked
It puts a different spin
On those desires and needs that go unmet

It pulls passion from its bin
That storehouse that holds every tear unwept
It pushes out pent up sin
To give form to every fear, unkept

It pierces beneath the skin
To clean out every corner unswept
It pokes those places thinned
To touch on every nerve undressed