Inside my room, I can invite my pen,

to find warmth and comfort in my hand,

by wearing its boots while walking in my mind,

with an umbrella held tight in its hand,

as a smooth cover from the rainy days,

as it exposes the power of my golden days.

Inside my room, I can stand to declare,

and make clear that I’m the best that I can be,

with no one around to invite despair,

with no one allowed to recite my mistakes

Inside my room, it’s my pen I befriend

then only friend who has never betrayed.