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
letters in-coherence,
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.