Spirograph

I am a pencil

Fitted to a Spirograh

I am resigned, designed

To do nothing but go round in circles 

Overlapping discs that leave their mark

But there are so many they are blurred

Into a slur of narrative 

That tells you nothing

Except it ain’t pretty

Too many to distinguish 

Extinguished any good by their quantity

All I have created is a mess

And yet I’ve come too far to stop

So I’ll continue telling my story 

In all its messy and circular glory 

The pencil won’t break 

Talking is never a mistake 

And I cannot wait any longer

For I know that creating this image

Can only make me stronger