A blank white space to write on,
I am smooth and crisp, but you can fold me at will.
I have lines over me to guide your words,
And help you watch which way they go.
I flew into a window once
Where a lover with words trapped inside him
Stared expectantly at me
Because I would take his words
Words he knew he wasn’t allowed to say,
But he still wrote.
As I lay on the table
Straining under the pressure of his pen,
The day turned dark,
A lusty wind threatened to drag me away,
And the clouds poured over the world.
A forceful rain leaked through the roof
Onto my blue lines.
The first drop made me quiver
And my edges curled up a little,
Before my body gave in to the coolness
Of the water.
As it continued to fall on me,
I stopped resisting and my skin tore,
Until there were no more lines on me.
And the water swept out of me
The weight of his unrequited words.
The rain stopped;
My skin dried in the breeze,
What remained was a rough, patchy open field;
The rain had left its footprints
Where his words had once marched in sync.
I thanked the rain
For the lover didn’t know
That I always hated the words written on my lines
And hoped someone could read my blank spaces.