Ink to my Pen

Let me tell you about a girl,

With a heart of gold and innocence like a pearl,

She felt like a dream in the real world;

For her, my rules really blurred,

In her presence, my words felt like they were being heard.

She asked me, "Do you really write about me?"

"How do I tell her it's only with her when my pen feels free?"

She repeated with her grumpy tone, "Stop being a poet and tell me the truth."

I smiled and said, "Yes, ma'am, it's true,

Try finding yourself in the poems I write,

And if you can't, 'I am not a good poet,' I quote."

She blushed but still took it forward,

"What if they aren't about me, and I am the self-centered one? Won't it be awkward?"

Now, even as a writer, I couldn't convey it to her,

That my words only feel alive when they revolve around her.

It's our story, our love that gives them reason to live,

She became the life, the ink to my pen.

In every line, you're the muse I adore,

With a heart of gold and innocence, like a pearl,

You still feel like a dream in the real world.

-LD