I've been known to
write stories
Instead of moving
Like my bending wrist
Knows just what she's
doing
Reality is there
Smothered under a blanket
Of scribbles and drawings
Some hopeful dreams
I think I made this
More than it was
Meant to be

(Writing
about writing
is so cliche)

But I cling to my words
Like I'm dangling
High up off the ground
Holding tight to the edge of
Serif-fonted letters

I always thought you knew me better.

And I've always tried to see the light
but in doing so
I never saw the darkness
For what it was