Real

Cruelty is what has become her friend
Shes turned her back on what is right
What is real is all that matters now
The mirror, all she sees is her portrait in black
She does not see the lines on her arm as marks of sorrow or dismay
But as line of a page, on which she has written the story of her life
Shes not insane, shes a writer, a poet
She scribbles all that she thinks on herself
For all to see, for all to read
But do you think and one does?
Does anyone read her story?
Does anyone care?
She wants others to read, to see her world
To lift her from her grave
But all they do is cast there eyes away
Looking on at the fiction they live
But thats not real
What is real is a girl, in this world
Trying as hard as she can to make others read her story, but no one will

Now she lays a top her bed
Not a care in the world
For now all of her cares have followed her to a better place
A place where people read, think, and care..

She is happy now
Her happiness is real