She writes in blood in her journal
the lines on the paper forgotten
she writes a simple story in blue & green sharpies
about a child who became a girl, a girl who became a woman
and smiled because she loved him
while she walked four miles (an afternoon ritual)
and smoked, staining the filter with wet lip-gloss
from pouty lips he once kissed with adoration
the first boy to say she was beautiful
and I love you while she cried in his arms
broken by his words-and whispered it back
unafraid of the consequences, her shattered heart mended
from the tragedy that held it close
& he once said she was his dreamgirl
gauzyreal to his fingers, he was afraid he’d wake up
and she’d only be a dream-she never told him she feared the same thing
and he broke her into pieces-again-with well placed words
and that tender tone of voice she loves more than his kisses-though
it always spells disaster
She still doesn’t regret him