She fell in love with my words.
I couldn’t compete.
My stories, poetic flow,
and ability to ignite emotion in others
held her a captive to my craft.
My words are my catalyst;
the perfect muse to manipulate her mind,
make her fall in love, with me;
if she only knew of my intentions.
The way I can press ink to paper
made me worth something.
In her world,
she saw my beautiful
stories of love,
and fictional tales
of our future beyond the page
before she spoke real words to me.
Poetry can help land a dream girl, a beautiful one too;
I’m different; most guys don’t write.
And she’ll adore me for my talent,
until she realizes, my ink speaks of non-fiction,
and I’m more than an emotion-soaked white blue-lined page
on the inside.