Ten healthy fingers!

Sometimes, the pen you hold,
Wants you to scribble down words
That when put together,
Won’t sound like something
Anybody except you would understand
or appreciate.
“Why”, you ask it?

Because words try to tumble down your tongue,
Like pearls try to sink to the bottom of the sea.
They’re purposeless, these words.
Beautiful enough to fool your eyes and all,
But incapable of turning themselves
Into a wearable piece of jewelry.

They won’t convey the deep,
Dark and occasionally delightful
Thoughts you’ve been having,
Because of how you’ve started treating
everything you do
Like a competition you don’t want to lose,
But which you know you’ll never be winning.
So, you try your hardest
To make them stand out
Only to end up blending them in.
Oh, how lifeless they make your pen look when it bleeds.

And yet,
Somehow you can understand 
These unintelligible words born out of you,
But can’t understand what made them climb up to your skull in the first place?

How is it that you can appreciate
The lifeless and the purposeless,
But you can’t appreciate your very own self?

And how is it that you’ve got a pot full of ink,
And ten healthy fingers
But you still believe you’re hopeless?