She Who Writes

She who writes
About anything,
Almost everything,
That fascinates
Her senses—
Wonders how it would feel
To be a muse
Of someone else’s
Poetic piece.

She who writes
For others,
About others,
And letting them
Live through eternity
Inside the delicate pages
Of her memory—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Remarkable character
Of an unending story.

She who writes
About grief,
About bliss,
About emptiness,
About inscrutable fear—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Unbearable pain
And unexplainable mirth,
Though she roams afar
Or dangerously near.

She who writes
About every tear
That falls from above
And caught by the ground—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Tiny drop
Of rain
On a sunny day
Caught by each palm,
Kept inside each hand.

She who writes
Wants to be written,
To be marked by ink,
To be kept,
To be cherished,
To be remembered,
To be alive
Not for every living soul,
But for those
Who hold her heart.

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