She was twenty-five
before she could drive,
a challenge to her mother.

She lived for school,
followed all the rules,
never even took a lover.

She was twenty-nine
when the fairy tale died
and she had to run for cover.

She spent the next ten years
hiding from her tears
and never took another.

April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.