You told me a story once, of a little girl,
Of how she longed for love and to be of worth,
And the pain and hurt that she felt,
Strong enough that I could relate.
I felt as though I had created that pain,
That made her feel unworthy.
I felt as though I told her she wasn't pretty,
And love would never be her territory.
I called her all sorts of names, Names I had never learnt,
But all of them offensive,
Strong enough to break that sweet,innocent girl.
if only I could take it all back, I would.
For the feeling of hurting another was something i wasn't used to.
But there's nothing much a pen can do,
when you can't stop the ink from flowing through you.
