Read them their writes

My words
Are serving a sentence
For mixing their tenses.

While my pen
Pleads repentance
For its pompous pretenses.

Silly little Bic
Went a tad overboard
When declaring itself
A match for the sword.

My words got the slammer
When, as partners in crime
Ignored rules of grammar
And reasons for rhyme.

But what now of me?
A writer no less!
Vocabulary-free
Without means to express?

I beg them, “Come back!”
I pray them, “Release me!”
But the pen’s bruised blue-black
And words don’t come easy.