Youve asked me
To describe her
For you say you want
To understand her.

But all I can say
Is  that she
Is simply a poet
With a shattered pen.

Life's ink has stained
Her slender fingers
Dark blots cover her paper
But still she writes.

You cannot understand
Illegible scrawls
Scattered across
Once clean paper.

To you it seems as if
She's finally gone mad
Perhaps she has
Always been mad.

But she is brilliant
For she has hidden
Her broken pieces
Beneath those ink blots.

If you truly want
To understand her mind
I suggest you start reading
In between the lines.


-ARI