She is poetry.
She is the beat inside the soul.
She is the emotion, she is the life;
She is the passion.
She is the bubbling energy.
She is the very source of inspiration.
She is the sparkle in the eyes,
The smile on the lips.
She is the ink, flowing richly through the veins
And onto this paper.
She may go through hell itself,
But she will never stop writing
For writing is her recluse, her saviour
Her each breath is a melody,
Her heart beats verse.
She may be bent, but never broken
And her poetry will live on
For she is poetry itself