"What?"
she asked, as she
couldn't believe…
any of this
was happening.
She gave it her all,
--- but lo‘ and behold,
nothing would come of it.
It's like something
was somewhere,
somewhere beyond her. It’s like her
something
was somewhere else.
It’s like all she ever
wanted to be
had fallen from off
her self.
With her…
life in a crisis,
mind in a panic, with
Fate in a rescinded
plea,
she raised the pen of her
misfortune
to write down
her destiny.
With…
enunciated lines and
eloquented breath, and a
misshapen'd letter or two,
she’d spewingly fill her
palimpsested life
with all
she had
to spew.
Writing words she knew
she desperately wanted (moreover, words
she wanted to want
her)
Writing words she wanted
as her Destiny
on her skin,
in her mind, in
the dirt.
"Love" she wrote, then scratched it out;
exceptionally too cliché.
"Happiness" she wrote, then crossed it out,
then happiness she’d erase.
"Truth", she etched, undyingly;
while, sadly, it taunted her.
But at least
it wanted her, rest-assuringly,
SO unlike the rest.
“At least the truth
had given a try”,
dangled upon her breath. Then she
screamed it aloud, allowing her
to finally have a sigh.
Her words always
seemed
to wander. As she
seemed to be
wondering why, she’d
dream of who
she wanted to be
without him
ever around.
Without any of them or
any of it
to ever
hold her down.
Spoken to herself “If
nothing else,
these tattoos
upon my skin…
are letters to him and
letters to them.”
She thought “but
then again…
I’ve lettered my skin, I better
begin
to read the words
I wrote.”
If Fate's a line
all of her time's
a sweet
unjotted note
“What?” she asked
once again,
but “Where?” she’d never plea
“I may never know
what the answer is,
but I know it’s
deep in me.”