The Story

She writes a lovely story,
Especially for her age,
But her tale is true and tragic,
And there are tear stains on the page.

Her rhythm and rhyme are excellent;
Her word choice is supreme;
Her voice is held by grammar,
But she just wants to scream.

She spins a compelling web
Of plot-twists and despair.
Inside, she's broken, furious, sad,
And she's tearing out her hair.

She writes a lovely story,
Especially for her age,
But her tale, while true, is tragic,
And there are ink streaks on the page.

She uses words with poise and grace:
Words which never fail,
But she's breaking down in front of me
As she tells her tale.

She bears it long; she never speaks
Until it grows too late.
She's bending now, bound to break
Underneath its weight.

She tells a horrid story,
But there's one small surprise:
Despite the pain she's feeling
There's spirit in her eyes.