I wrote you a poem.

I would write
a poem, a story,
a chapter, a book,
a whole **** library,
a universe
if I knew how.

Forget the poem,
unless it would make you smile
for a moment,
knowing I
(foolish girl)
cared enough
to write it.

Except,
I don't know how
to escape from
my helpless
skin

or to force my way
out of that
awful box

And

I am being selfish, again,

because I don't really know anything.