She is such an addict writing
On her skin paper thin phrases
That she prays her mother
Never sees so they don't get
Ripped off from her wrists and
Ankles where the ink drips
Down onto her fingertips she
Licks it off a stream of bitter
Insecurities on the tip of her tongue

She drifts in streams of lilac
Trees where beauty grows on
Her shoulders and mixes with
Copper hair curving around
Those eyes shattered simply
After the storm puddles placed
On her face with a solemn
Gaze into her butterscotch sun

She dances for the starlight and
Folds her body origami so the
Moon will kiss her uncovered
Skin with its rays she wouldn't
Quite call it worship when she
Twists her hands into a floral
Pattern across her chest is more
Of falling in love all over again when
Nighttime breezes caress her
Cheeks and garish daylight sinks
Away so her mouth is filled with
Pretty silent music only she can truly hear

Her dresses are made of
Honey drops and spiders
Silk wrapped tightly around
Light thigh curves and a
Ribbon of regret encircling
Her thin waste she is made
Of bones and skin and
Plump flesh she pinches
Playfully gleaming at
The marks she leaves

She devours words her lips
Taking in all the unpleasant
Lies that drip from others
Mouths how she loves to
Drink the wine of disdain and
Angst that gives deathly
Summers with poison songs
Being sung to our eyes to
Our lives she wants to believe
The blasphemous wonders that
They all speak of diamonds to
Her shattered almost soul

She speaks in third person like
Someone forgot to tell her she
Isn't the character of the book
That she is positive is being
Written right at this moment with
Silver strands of jubilant sorrow
Flowing in her bloodstream she
Feels so different from everyone
Else like a stranger walking
Around a tattoo on her forearm
With swirls and twists words
Forming to make an "I am not beautiful"
Mural of what her life is supposed
To be what everyone is supposed
To see when they look into her eyes

She wants to be original but
Writes poetry about love because
Maybe she wants it too and can't
Get someone out of her head and
Heart but that just makes her ever
More part of the majority not that
Being a minority is really hard when
FREAK is written on her forehead and
Her mouth is sewn with a black and
White needle and string made from
Ripped photographs of what she
Was sure love is made out of

Now she runs her bony fingers
Through her chipped hair snow
Sprinkled on her eyelashes waiting
For him to return and dust
Collecting on her knees a dark
Veil across her eyes hiding the
Fear that he'll never come again

She is lost and poetic she is
Burning and alive but it's time for
Her to realize that he's died

It's time for her to whisper now goodbye