The story of my life:
He wrote to be like somebody else,
She wrote to be herself.
He never understood her take on life
She always felt his poems were lies
He read and attempted to reinvent her work
She tried to feel something out of his words
He insisted on changing her style
She wouldn’t give in or give up on her idyll
He mewled and writhed to have her heart
She fought for it too, to own her art
He failed to understand where her true self lied
She always knew her fate was not in his hands.
And so it begins, a true love’s tale
between the girl who believed
and the stories she read.
To be brave is to be thine own self.