My notebook, the holder of my
thought,
The keeper of my life,
The anthology of poem,
The carrier of love
The owner of my hurt,
The possessor of my lines,
The pocket for my world.
What makes you so? The binding embraces sheets taut,
You can cut through any cold heart like a knife,
To anyone, you release your power upon them,
As if you were created above,
From nothing to imposing you convert,
Any person, nothing confines,
what is written upon you, you are my world.