The poetic difference

It all started

it all started on a stage, a first glance, common teachers, common friends, maybe it all started with pretend, or insecurity, or fear, or manipulation a second perspective or even a third, hands to help one trapped soul see the light, maybe it all started one night, maybe she was hurt, maybe it was fate, but only some know, but not even I know who knows all I know is that someone knows, she fell in love with a blonde, sweet, and smooth, with a voice that could capture attention in an instant, piercing blue eyes, and a knack for an argument, a junior, out of reach almost impossible, and in all ways unacceptable, but Shakespeare made love forbidden, enticing, the beauty of the travesty the metaphorical blood splatter painting a Murrell ,a rose, and its Thorn's dripping red, " I don't get girls" he says, his serpentine tongue spitting lies like second nature, memories cut like knives cause now she knows he lied, the classroom in which she was violated by the blonde boy, stays locked to her she locks it herself, and she moves down the hallway, to her Paradise, the curtains the props the sets the spot lights the chairs which she saw silhouetted audience members who may have once inhabited the now vacant seats, the stage, her new found happy place, a girl, of Hispanic origin with a beautiful face and an even better personality, approaches the girl, asking to be scene partners, immediately the girl with blue and golden eyes says yes. Its not a male for her to be scared of, its a girl with dark brown eyes and a shining personality, of course, I once said it started on a stage and that it did. Or did it.