Pretty Words

She just didn't fit.

Try as I might
to find the words

I realised,
perhaps too late,

that they just
didn't exist

She wasn't
a hurricane
straddling
a rainbow

Or a slave
chained
to the ankles
of a daydream

Or any other
bullshit line
I may have pulled
out of my ass
for countless others
before
her

She stood alone

Untouched by poetry

It just didn't apply

Metaphors
cannot begin
to convey
the meaning
of this

Rhymes
couldn't possibly
tell
the story
of us

She was colour
in a black and white world

And no arrangement
of alphabets,
could ever hope
to capture
her essence
on paper

In the end...

...poetry is just a bunch of pretty words...


Yet here I am,
scribing
all the same.