Reina Sevintuna

I remember a girl with a quick wit and silver tongue;

No more than 10 years old.

Everyday she creaked on an old hammock

Stashed in a forgotten corner of her backyard.

Dragons and Dementors dance around her head as she devoured book after book.

That girl would have wanted to be a writer.

Then there was the forgotten girl.

Who stabbed a threaded needle into her lips

just to kept her silver tongue sealed away.

She spoke her mind so little

it was almost as though she had ceased to have one.

Furious scribbles in old leather journals

of the things she wished she could say out loud;

It wouldn’t have been painful to speak

but she was insistent on fighting her nature.

That girl would have wanted to be quiet.

Now there’s a tired girl.

She pried open the stitches over her lips that entombed that age old silver tongue;

But all that seems to spill out now is blood and poetry.

I’ve only begun to get to know her

Though I think, most of all;

She wants to be happy.