I heard of a girl.
Her pen was her sword,
Crusading the world.
She bled from her wounds
Echoing somewhere,
Crying from afar,
Not knowing why.

She wrote to gain silence
Somewhere in the city.
Somewhere in a city,
Her mind wrestled more loudly
Than the force of anger.
A butterfly prevented from soaring?

It was something she couldn't name.
It bound her wrists.
She could never breathe there.
She could never breathe.

So she rose from her seat and tried to leave,
But the floor beneath her started to fall,
And her heart was pounding, then the air was gone,
And there is no one else there but the pen  
so she bleeds.
She bleeds onto the pages,
And through her finger tips,
And lets the words cover her
like a blanket of unsafety.

Would she ever have the heart to escape?

—————

Earth paused to hear her voice.
It all stopped moving, and
The girl kissed the end.
It kissed her back as her sword fell to silence.
It was soft and easy.
But it was also final, and
She was not ready.
It hurt, coming so close.
She's still hurting.
But she's still there.
She continues to crusade
The pages, and the world.