I scratch your paper,
I run out of ink,
I’m a temperamental sod,
I bring you to the brink.
My original pattern
is faded with use.
Yet you still reach for me,
letting my nib run loose.
You think your best words
Come out of your favourite pen.
And those marks of turquoise magic
are a whispering from heaven.
inktuition 
All the artsiest kids use turquoise fountain pens. I ask in writerly gatherings, and I’m never the only one. 🙂 Glad to find a kindred spirit! 🙂
Well I never knew that. It’s good to know I’m cool for school!