I once knew a girl,
A girl who loved to write,
she'd write poems, books, anything.
She's loved to write,
soon though she realized she wasn't a good writer,
so she started writing in red.
Red ink on the page,
the page that was her wrist,
her thighs,
her stomach.
I miss the girl who wouldn't write in red.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
I once knew a girl,
A girl who loved to write,
she'd write poems, books, anything.
She's loved to write,
soon though she realized she wasn't a good writer,
so she started writing in red.
Red ink on the page,
the page that was her wrist,
her thighs,
her stomach.
I miss the girl who wouldn't write in red.