The Glorius Writing Pen

Pens, such simple everyday tools.

I admire them so.

Eyes lovingly devouring each time seen,

as I'm forced to hold back my drool.

The variety of tips, grips, styles and ink,

Can one become addicted to writing paraphernalia?

Pens drop into my cart; my collection grows.

I may have a problem, I think.

Hoarding; like a dragon with its treasure.

Hidden from my children;

As supplies quickly disappear

But I know their measure!

Cheap, decoy pens!

Those inferior writing styluses,

Those are beneath my notice.

It always works on the men.

There's the female spawn.

She knows quality

She knows my hiding places.

How impossible to protect my Babylon.

In desperation, I rain down gifts.

Unicorn tipped, fluff covered atrocities

pretending to be pens.

Sadly she knows she's been stiffed.

My collection raided, my treasured destroyed.

Yet a part of me is proud,

the spawn following in her mother's footsteps.

Another part wants to eat its young, less than overjoyed.