To the girls who write poetry,
where tongues failed to form words
steady hands grant eternal life
to every secret longing
that pools in your heart
and seeks freedom through your pens.
You mother orphaned sentences,
and grant nomads shelter
who else can build a home
with only blank sheets
and hands stained with ink?
Silently wishing you could utter,
the words embedded in your heart.
* This is a Spin-off /sequel/response to “Boys Who Write Poetry”