Writing Challenge I – M. Craig Bettencourt

My name is M. Craig Bettencourt, and I hope you enjoy my piece.
Thank you for the interesting prompt and the opportunity.

Dear Mark,

I know you think I’m nothing resting idly in your palm. I know you think I
am a but a tool to manipulate as you please. But you, my pink, squishy master, are wrong on all accounts. Without me you’d be a failure, you’d never articulate a thing. Without my mighty head of metal your work would be in vain. I am sure you think that, because you use your hand and your brain that you are the one who writes those poems, but oh are you ever wrong.

The linguist, the artiste, the master of the written word is not the one who
controls the pen, it is the pen itself. It is me you blathering buffoon, you don’t do a damn thing. I tell you what to do, I make your cursive legible, and what do I receive in return? Punishment, pain and overuse.

You pick me up in the middle of the night and don’t let go ‘til the morning,
perhaps someone ten times your size hasn’t held you for hours on end, but it
isn’t sunshine and teddy bears; in fact, I think Satan may add it as a new
attraction in his fun house of torture. Albeit, your hand isn’t the worst place I’ve been, you gnaw on me with the ferocity of a jaguar in heat, and still expect me to happily obey your command. You leave me on the ground only to be picked up when you need me, you treat me like trash, toss me on things, shove me in your musky breast pocket, and the nerve of you.

You expect me to keep quiet? No sir. No longer shall this pen hold his nib.
You are an ass, a demon who wraps his eldritch hand around my demure body, a pitiful fool who chases away every woman who stands in the way of your late nights with me. Yet, regardless of your inadequacies, failures and mistreatment, when it comes down to the line you pick me over the other utensils. When the wastes of your mind become clear you always want me there to hold on to. You always smile when it is I who weaves the lines of your words. You’re a genius when I’m in hand, so for fuck’s sake put my damned cap on before you dry me out!

With love and malice,

Your pen