Paper child

Made of words

Full of pages

Never heard

Crooked spine

Of crinkled paper

Crooked mind

They've ripped and taped her

Ideas here

Cannot be had

Thoughts of your own

Are wicked, bad

But silence births

New words of ink

Her pages fill

When she can think

Paper child

Of paragraphs

Survives on patience

Never laughs

She thrives alone

With pen on skin

Life to words

She's smudged again

She can't undo

What she has done

So overlooks

Keeps moving on

She can't forget

However she thinks

There's no erasing

Words of ink

(I wrote this poem a couple years ago when I was bored in school. I really liked it and found it again recently)