Untitled

This is a poem I’d like you to think about. It doesn’t have a title. I want you to give it your own title, your own interpretation, because I like to think that this one has different meanings for different people.

This is from the girl
Who was a living mockingbird
Free, about to soar
This is from the girl
Whose wings you clipped
Not knowing that your words
Were bullets, dragging down

This is from the girl
Who was a living molecule
Invisible, because of you
This is from the girl
Whom you never thought of
Not knowing that your words
Were bullets, striking through

This is from the girl
Who was a living creature
Human, one made pariah
This is from the girl
Whom you hurt so badly
Not knowing that your words
Were bullets, making scars

This is from the girl
Who was a living future
Possibilities, you’ll never know
This is from the girl
Whom you will never meet
Not knowing that your words
Were bullets, disfiguring her

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