The Letter

That simple piece of paper Within the sloppy folds Created by a child, that had no idea what she was doing Rested the second of so many griefs Run by outside influence and a growing mind The letters were typed Those letters led to words To which those words led to loss If I could watch the actions that orchestrated this misery I would watch with bated breath And watch not the little girl who sent the letter But who she trusted it with If on the way to its target It saw light of day not in the arms of understanding But in the eyes of apathetic drama indused rumors Or did it reach its intended target Did they read it and weep? Or did they read it Crumple it And move on? After I have my answers I would report to the girl And tell her not of my findings But allow her to sob openly at the hole left Within arms that understand that pain Not to condone that wrong choice But to speak pretty nothings of truths Against her ear "Things will get better" So if I had it my way again I would write that letter