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.