Stories of her life

She has a bookshelf for a heart

Ink pumps through her veins She writes the stories of her life With the typewriter in her brain There are stacks and stacks of books Each one about something she experienced Some about people she loved, some about the more depressing periods Many have flicked through the pages But no one's read till the end There are some which are never opened Some of her finest writings for sure with the title 'People Who Betrayed My trust'

They sit at the back collecting dust There are books she's scared to open And others she fears to close Some are just figments of her imagination Others are lists of woes She writes and writes some more She writes about every single person she meets She writes about their actions, their appearance, notices how she speaks Thousands of inky footprints Have left impression on her stomped upon heart Yet she continues to write Hoping, one day she'll mean enough To leave some sentences about herself in someone else's heart,

to leave something back in the world she lived in, Her very own trademark.