six horizontal lines
one atop the other
like lines of a book
written in invisible ink

the story is a sad one
one of pain, one of hate. 
a lonely girl that no one loved
unable to even love herself.

as time wore on, 
the story got longer, 
the lines got deeper. 
soon enough, the words
were no longer invisible.

the ink was red,
the plot was clear. 
people took notice
of this sad little girl
with storybook arms

they wanted it stopped
wanted to keep her 
from writing the story 
that no one thought to listen to.

took away her pen, 
threw her in an empty room
and wondered why
she still wasn’t happy.

the poor little girl
with the storybook arms
still wanted to write.

she was pricked and prodded,
sedated and medicated. 
scrutinized to no end.

never once was the girl asked what she needed. 
in fact, the answer was quite simple.

a cry for help, 
she wanted someone to listen
to her tell the tale,
to read the words
scribbled in the red ink
on her storybook arms.