She smelled of love letters and spilled ink,
Wrote down the words of wisdom,
As she sipped on her caffeinated drink,
She lived in the world that resided in her head,
Didn't find salvation in money or fame,
But in the library instead,
She looked beautifully surreal in pink,
As the sun rose during the early morning of spring
To kiss the daisies that grew near the brink,
She bore prophecies within her eyes,
One couldn't challenge their veracity,
For it would be like questioning the vastness of the skies,
People always thought she didn't fit in,
Just because she found peace within the books,
And the words had built a home under her skin.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 3:15 AM UTC
She smelled of love letters and spilled ink,
Wrote down the words of wisdom,
As she sipped on her caffeinated drink,
She lived in the world that resided in her head,
Didn't find salvation in money or fame,
But in the library instead,
She looked beautifully surreal in pink,
As the sun rose during the early morning of spring
To kiss the daisies that grew near the brink,
She bore prophecies within her eyes,
One couldn't challenge their veracity,
For it would be like questioning the vastness of the skies,
People always thought she didn't fit in,
Just because she found peace within the books,
And the words had built a home under her skin.
