comet

She has a book shelf for a heart
and ink runs through her veins.
She'll write a story
with the typewriter in her brain.  
There's a book she's scared to open 
and books she doesn't close. 
Story of every person she met
 stretched out in endless rows. 
Thousands of inky footprints 
that they've left across her heart. 

You might wonder why she does this? 

Because she hopes someday 
she'll mean enough
for someone to write 
about her too.