She wrote stupid poems

About him, to pretend

That he felt the same way

A stupid fantasy

In her lonely mind

A game of make-believe

So that in those brief moments

When she was alone

With her notebook and a pencil

She could feel loved, be loved

By the one that haunted

Her every thought

Her mind, and her paper

Gave her the strength

To pretend, to believe

That he really did love her