The Power of Words

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I have words, if not
spoken out
loud;
I have words, I have
written
them down.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
laugh,
with the words on the page;
I can bring you joy,
a grin to your
face.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
cry,
writing tears in black ink;
I can show you grief,
change the way that you
think.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
rage,
my pencil in flames,
as I write words with daggers,
at you they are
aimed.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
smirk,
as I sprinkle in sass,
those snarky remarks
I dare not say in
class.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
fear,
like a blade at your throat,
the sword that I wield
a dagger I
wrote.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me that.

 

I can make you
feel,
your heart in my grasp,
as in ink I etch words
making blows that will
last.

 

Don’t call me that,
a girl of few words.

 

Don’t call me

 

that,

 

for your words
affect only those in hearing range,
while mine can affect
the world.






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