She  types and types,
trying to make a simple story.
She loves and loves,
trying to make a love story.
She pretends and pretends,
to be so deep.
When all she really needs to be
is unique.
You see she doesn't think she is,
she doesn't do anything.
She sits she thinks and sometimes she tries things.
But she tries the wrong things,
she wants to have that thing.
The "thing" everybody else has,
that makes them special in a way.
But she doesn't have that 'thing';
because she doesn't seem to realize that,
she is that "thing".
                                                        yours truly,
                                                                       . . .