Trained to Go.

History repeats itself. My feelings do not. I’ve walked this territory and I’ve failed miserably under pressure; the training has finally paid off. Anxiety doesn’t find a place to sleep near me tonight, depression doesn’t share my pillow and a soundtrack that emotionally ducks me under water doesn’t play a role. I’m trained to roll out on the aforementioned.
My composure as I grow older is colder in nature, as I’ve trained to be greater. Words begin to sound good in the moment, but lost and never found thereafter.
The pen has never deserted me and the pen has never put any hurt to me. Penmanship over any ship that sets sail upon the sea.
I’ve been trained to rely on the pen, document, draft and poetry. Pain will remain unless I obtain the urge to write again and again; my own circle of life.
