10/26/2023
"She has a bookshelf for her heart,
And ink runs through her veins,
She'll write you into her story,
With a typewriter in her brain,
Her bookshelves are getting crowded,
With all the stories that she had penned,
Of the people who flicked through her pages,
But closed the book before its end,
And there's one pushed to the very back,
That sits collecting dust,
With its title in her finest writing,
"The One's Who Lost My Trust",
There are books she's scared to open,
And books she doesn't close,
Stories of every person she's met,
Stretched out in endless rows,
Some people have only a sentence,
While others once held the main part,
Thousands of inky footprints,
That they've left across her heart,
You may wonder why she does this,
Why write of people she once knew?
But she hopes one day she'll mean enough,
For someone to write about her too."
-e.h
