Pieces


She picked up an old ink pen one day
“Well look at this,” she exclaimed
And proceeded to write her name on a line
In pretty cursive, her style resigned
She peered down at her empty words
The line made her think of a caged bird
She put back down the pen, upset
And wondered what the feeling meant
She smoothed out the rumples in her skirt
And brushed off the shoulders of her shirt
She twiddled with her thumbs some more
Then glanced back at the page, unsure
Hesitantly, she picked back up the pen
And put the thing back down again
She finally took it in her hand
And did something she hadn't planned
She tore the pages, she ripped the book
She wrote, and drew, and slashed, and shook,
She created a world from her head
The place outside her mind, she fled
And slowly, her words did take their toll,
For she found herself down the rabbit hole

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