It’s 3am, her eyes are weary
and to the paper and pen her fingers cling.
Under her blanket, safe in the shadows,
a girl of 13, already hole ridden by self-doubt
becomes more by the power of words.
Filled with angst and optimism common of her age,
it is on the page, illuminated by the glow of a flash light–
a Wordsmith is born.
Even with her questionable levels of self-esteem
she can see her dream is no dream.
Her pen dances on the paper evidenced in the meticulous trail of ink.
It is in this moment, she reads and she sees.
She sees her reflection more real than any mirror ever will.
She ignites…becomes too bright for a blanket to hide her light-
casting it under the door. She could be caught any moment.
She’s already been warned…
But, as her poetry flows all she knows
Is her purpose– to compose.
She has acknowledged her spark at only 13.
I wish I could tell you she always fed the fire
but I would be a bold-faced liar.
26 years later, it hasn’t been snuffed out.
Though the lies told by people and so many mirrors
stole the air that fed that flame.
Yet, still that flame has always remained. It is still there illuminating her dream.
It is up to her to decide how to circulate the air she breathes
— and what reality she wants to feed…