My [Her] trash can is filled with paper balls
I [she] tried to write a poem,you see
I [She] wrote something then another
But I [she] always stop[s] at line three

I [She] doodle[s] until the letters turn into ants that crawl all over the page
They become jigsaw pieces that just don't fit and I [she] stomp[s]on them in rage

I [She] used to count on my [her] words when the numbers failed me [her]
So how is it that it's just a single thread of a rhyme that holds my [her] stanzas together?

Push came to shove one day , and I [she] threw my [her] pen into the bin along with the paper I [she] crumpled
I [She] mourned the death of My [her] words
And wept the tears I'd [she'd] kept bottled.
© Ma-cal