Right Hand Graphite

Broken pencil stub,

sharp graphite peeks like a secret,

silent in my right hand.

I bite the edge,

a crunch that humbles,

sharpening with teeth too lazy to fetch a sharpener.

Lines scratch a whisper on the page,

slanting crooked, half-formed,

like words I almost mean.

Right-handed but left clumsy,

graphite grits between my fingers,

a broken promise still writing.