Words, always.

She was the kind of girl

Who didn’t blink when you told her

She was pretty.

She was the kind

Who became giddy when you told her

Her words were pretty.

That’s what made her ecstatic.

That’s what made her feel alive.

Words, hers and yours.

Always.

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A Story to Tell.

And when they

Ask why when

She opens her

Mouth she only

Spills poetry,

She replies,

“My Heart broke

One too many times.

Now every piece has

A story to tell.

Poetry gives the story

Character.”

-a-

Set Fire to the World.

Armed with

The fire running

In her blood

Licking up her

Veins and arteries,

Pushing to be

Set free,

She attacked

The blank paper

With the sparks

Of awareness

And saw her words

Set fire to the

World around.

-a-