Her notes are everywhere
pencils and faded lead on paper
She even has used erasers 
scattered in places where you 
can detect are her “use zones”

She has that yellow notepad
with scratches on notes, 
parenthesis on clauses 
written with such depth
you can tell she was serious when she wrote them

That bic pen cap
Oh poor thing, chewed on 
it almost seemed like she was sculpting
her thoughts, as she bit it
thinking, igniting her neurons
into starting some electrical chain reaction

Her papers had circular coffee stains
she must be clumsy, but that did not stop her
from using that stain as a boundary for an idea
a creative limit, to enclose that floating thought

Oh headphones! That must be her secret to
her enjoyable seclusion
Her collection must be vast
since her headphones are big enough
to make sure she heard every note,
every decibel, every strum, every beat
every drop

Look! Her doodles wander from one page
to another, from one notepad to the other
signifying that none stop flow of random
little things in her head
Small pencils that have been used till the end
sit in a small bowl, to the corner of her
She keeps them, they signify a journey of doodles
they have utilized, they have been carried around with her
She wants them there, she collects them, like how people
collect pennies!
Each pencil had his share of writing!

Look there!
Pages and pages of clustered lines of writing
She actually hand writes!
It’s been a while, since I have seen anyone
or any paper that isn’t typed! You can see where she lay
her hand as she continued to fill the empty lines,
that lingered for be penciled upon similar to
how a tattoo junkie aches to be inked!

She barely kept any white space between the lines
She likes it messy it seems, juicy and weighty
filled with on going run-on sentences
and only she can probably know where
to insert the right punctuation, the moments to breathe
and the moments to smile.

Cigarette pack! It lays next to the phone
I am jealous of those death sticks that touch her
lips, she must be one wordy person

She probably takes a break
when she’s had enough of her rowdy thoughts
running in circles, rectangles, triangles
basically in any sporadic direction in her head
until they make her drowsy, dizzy with overthought
not the bad kind, but the kind that needs nicotine fix

So much un-wasted paper
so many blunt pencils,
random post its with fragments
sometimes with cursive and sometimes not

I wonder, do you think
she’s written so much
that she has stenciled herself
to the person she is today?

Has she drawn her thick eye brows
colored her eyes a darker hue
outlined her silhouette with charcoal?
Has she thickened her rib cage and
slowly brushed over those feminine
naïve feelings that have cost her
almost everything?

As I saw the progression of possessions
in her zone, I noticed,
more broken pencils
darker intensified notes
paper depths.
I bet it wasn’t always like this

She must have
started with shy blurry lines
that left mystery for discovery
Secrecy, beauty, rowdy, blurry
and slow
woman pencil


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