The Story of a Girl.

There once was a girl
who created her own world.

She drafted poetry from air
forming, filling and fragmenting
lines that weren't there.

She wrote everything in ink
In hopes you would see
the truth she would think.

Mistakes visibly corrected.
Fantasy lines finally perfected.
Faint prose daintily erected.
Invisible ties securely cemented.

There was once a girl.

But never twice. 

P's; No Q's.

Puzzle pieces

placed perfectly.

Positioned

to propose

promises

as if preconceived.

Parading

its prominence

as part of

the process.

Plainly put,

this was on purpose. 

Dearest Love.

A Malady for You.

You hurt me.

You shouldn't have hurt me.
Thought you couldn't have hurt me,
Said you wouldn't have hurt me.
But still you hurt me
and it
hurts me.

I hurt.

I shouldn't hurt. 

Thought I wouldn't hurt

Since I couldn't hurt.

Now I don't hurt. 

Because 

I

won't

hurt. 

Farewell,
My love.
My pain.